In the Beginning
by Speary
Summary: A/N Destiel: Dean is trapped in a world of false memories. Castiel is trying to bring him back, while preserving the borders of Heaven and Earth. Alastair, is trying to return the world to the chaos that existed in the beginning. (This was my first fic and I only keep it here for nostalgia).
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. Genesis 1:1-4

* * *

_In Redwood National Park_

This story has many beginnings, but it does not begin at your beginning. It begins in a forest, high on top of a mountain that is lush and moist and earthy. Even this is not the beginning, but it is a fine enough place to start. It was also pleasant and calm in this moment. It was an odd moment, for the world was not calm or pleasant. A thick fog was blanketing the valley below, but by the time it would reach this place, there would be nothing left to harm. The canopy of the trees shivered in the mild breeze that flitted through it. The breeze was unwelcome and would carry the fog faster to this place. There were higher places. There were mountains that were far more removed from the devastation, but they too would be overtaken, so why prolong the inevitable.

This task could not be accomplished alone. Israfel was near. She held the body close to her and poured her grace into it. Her wings wrapped around the two of them in a kind of embrace. I looked down at the body in my arms and longed to wake it. It would be brief. I could not justify the action. It would only be for me that I did it. We said our goodbyes already. His face was peaceful, tanned golden, with sharp angles of cheek bones that spoke to the harsh life that he had lived. I brushed my fingers through his golden, brown hair and placed my forehead against his. At least he would be safe. At least he would have some sense of peace. These were the things that I told myself. After all, I could not release his soul to the chaos of Heaven without knowing that he would be safe, and I could not keep him safe on earth. At least, I could not keep him safe in his present condition. So, the decision was made.

The canopy shook again with a hiss. I would not be able to delay any longer. _Israfel, it is time_. I sent my thoughts to her in a moment, but she already knew. Much would change in a thousand years. What we were doing would change everything.

* * *

_Gunnison Island in the Great Salt Lake_

Chuck Shurley appeared on the island in an instant. In his arms he carried an angel that at first glance appeared too large for this small man to carry. However, Chuck Shurley was not all that his form displayed. And this fact alone does not begin to tell the tale that is Chuck Shurley. But sometimes beginnings are overrated.

He stooped to one knee and gently laid the angel on the barren looking earth. "This is a good place for new beginnings little angel." Chuck whispered past the sweep of blonde hair that cascaded around her pale face. Her eyes were closed and seemed to flutter as his words breezed into her ear.

He rolled her to her side and looked at the one wing that spread out majestically over her form. Its opalescent colors sparkling in the bright light of day. His eyes moved across her wing down to the joint near her shoulder blade, then they moved to the place where another opalescent cascade should have been. The gash was healed, somewhat. "Hmm, this will not do." His hand ghosted over the spot as he looked over the vast expanse of land surrounding him. He did not create from nothing. There was always something. It was always about transferring from one thing to the next. That was how it had always been, even in the beginning.

His eyes fell on the distant mass of white pelicans. "Oh, that will do. That will do, just fine, I think." He lifted his arm out toward the birds and one grand white creature with black tipped wings swooped over the distance to light down onto him. "You are a beautiful creature," he whispered. His other hand moved from the back of the angel to one of the pelican's wings. It vanished. "Do not fear, she will care for you."

He moved his hand over to the angel and pressed his fingers to the place where her wing should have been. The new wing sprang forth. It was not like the other wing, but it was not quite like the pelican's either. It was smaller and not opalescent. It was white with black tips, but nearly ¾ the size of her other wing. He smiled down at her. "It is good." He liked the lack of symmetry. It reminded him of humans-the little imperfections that kept them from being too predictable.

He leaned back to her unconscious form and whispered instructions into her ear before walking toward the mass of pelicans. She would know what to do when the time came, but for now she would just wait.

As the birds flew up around him and into the sky he snapped out of their existence. He looked back at the island through their eyes as they soared over the vast island and saw the beauty of his choice. The island lay in the glimmering body of salty water vibrant and blue in a way that seemed utterly unnatural. The true beauty though was in the shape of the island. From the heavens, it was shaped as the angel with wings spread wide on either side. One wing though stretched out larger than the other and it really was beautiful to behold and good.

* * *

_Dean Dreams of Cicero_

This is where it begins again. Sam stood out in the cold night gazing into the softly illuminated dining room. Cas stood just behind him, silent for the moment.

"The process will not be easy," Castiel's voice breaks the silence. "He isn't really here, but you needed to see what he has experienced since your fall into the cage."

"How long has he been like this?" Sam's question is gruff.

"Time isn't the point. It is all in his mind, but this is one of the early memories."

"It looks like a nice memory. Why would they give him a nice memory? I mean, these memories came from Hell, right."

"Mostly."

"What does that mean?" Sam turned to Castiel with a slight crease to his brow.

"It means that some of the memories are twisted versions of the ones that I had to place in his mind. I had to take his memories of me and alter them. So that he would not remember me from before the warehouse." He seemed to sink in on himself as if all of this explanation was too tiring.

"Why would they let him have this?" Sam gestures back at the house.

"What would be worse than Hell for Dean?" Castiel stares fixedly at Dean who is smiling at the young boy and woman across from him.

"Obviously, having a happy family dinner, Cas," Sam huffs out.

"No, but losing those that he loves, now that is Dean's Hell. It is the only thing that would drive him back into the abyss. The thought that anyone he loves could die, could suffer…" he trails off and stares with sorrow at Dean's make believe family.

"But, I still don't get why they would give him this."

"Dean believed that Ben was his son. He always wanted a chance at this sort of thing. They let him keep this so that they could take it away from him in a myriad of ways. I only regret giving him this memory in the first place."

"We had a year though, a year after he was on the rack…"

"Yes, I was able to put him back together and suppress the memories. It was a temporary fix. I dreamwalked him, and I did so many things to keep him from this. Your fall was too hard for him. It sent him so completely into this false world. Convincing him that he needs to leave it is not going to be easy. I will need your help." Castiel stared at Sam as he often did with Dean.

"Whoa, I'm not Dean." Sam clutched at his head.

"Sorry. I just wanted to take you to a different memory."

"Is that how you kept Dean's mind from slipping? The staring…"

"Sometimes when he seemed overly emotional this proved effective." He stared back at Sam again. "I am going to take you to another place now."

The world faded in front of Sam's face and then began to regroup into recognizable shapes. Sam took a step back in shock as he was face to face with himself. "Well, that isn't awkward or anything." The other Sam turned to Dean as they both stood at the edge of the water. Neither Dean nor the other Sam could see them. In the distance a different Castiel sunk into the water. "What is this Cas?"

"Dean has a memory of me absorbing souls from Purgatory. Leviathans. In this memory I kill, and I betray in so many ways." He steps to the side to face Dean and the other Sam. "It is odd to me that he did not see through this memory."

"Maybe it is not about what is real for Dean. Maybe it is more about what he fears the most. You not being you, or you getting hurt might fit the mold of what is Dean's personal Hell. Seeing through it might not be possible."

At that moment Dean reaches down to the water and pulls out Castiel's trenchcoat, carefully folds it, and turns to walk away. "Maybe you are right." He looks like he has doubts. He seems to consider that Dean might truly have lost faith in him. "We should see another one."

Sam nods silently and Castiel stares deeply as the world fades again and another vision emerges.

* * *

_Heaven_

"Balthazar, you were searching for me?" Castiel stood a few feet from the other angel waiting.

"Yes, brother. When were you going to tell me about the odd memories that you have been playing with in your little boy toy?" His casual tone did nothing to hide his annoyance.

"There is nothing to tell." Castiel turned as if to signify the end of the conversation. "Are we done?"

"You have heard that the removal of the Righteous Man and Lucifer's Vessel will cause a great disturbance in the universe, right?"

"When is the universe not disturbed?"

"True, but I certainly deserve to know when someone is walking around with images of my death on repeat."

"I assure you that no one is walking around with images of your death on repeat." Castiel stares at him steadily as he says this.

"Hmm, I am not getting into a semantics battle with you. Dean has something that concerns me in his head, and I would like to know what is going on in that department."

"If it comes to anything you will be one of the first to know." He turns again as if to signify the end of the conversation when he feels the rough hand grip his shoulder.

"I am not so useless as you seem to think. Perhaps I can help. I know that I am not Israfel, but I can help. Especially, when it concerns me." His eyes seemed to show desperation.

"The visions are not true. I do not understand why they matter to you."

"Things are changing, little brother. They are changing, big time. Not just on earth, but everywhere. Things are not so pure anymore. Borders are not so solid anymore. The first breakdown of these borders occurred when we pulled that boy up from Perdition. It began in the dreams and then it was real. Who's to say that it won't happen again?"

"So you think that I will open Purgatory and ram a sword through you?"

"I don't know. Is that what the vision says will happen?"

"More or less. It is not always the same. One time you plunged the sword into me." Castiel let out a small, frustrated breath. "The visions are only important to Dean. They should not matter to anyone else."

"Now, don't start that line with me, Castiel." Balthazar stared hard at Castiel's face. "You and I both know what has been hidden in those memories. He has been touched by Heaven. That would be you, Cassy. He has been touched by Hell. One more touch and the borders fall. Why do you think that he has all of that Purgatory business floating around in that noggin of his? Someone or something wants to make it happen. Someone is going to offer up that final touch and I hope for all of our sakes, that you have found a way to take care of this situation."

"You do not need to worry. No one will get to Dean or Sam."

"It isn't really them that I am worried about." But his words come too late. Castiel had already left.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so. And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day. Genesis 1:7-8

* * *

_Gunnison Island in the Great Salt Lake_

He begins his trek across the island with the large, unconscious man in his arms. The man was not heavy and the angel showed no signs of struggle. He walked through the dried brush toward the distant mass of pelicans. He was drawn here by a persistent tug on his grace.

When Dean stared up at him at Stull, he seemed to be about a million miles away. Castiel stared at him, hoping that it would be enough to help pull the pieces of his mind together, but he could see that he was losing. Dean had looked back at the spot that had claimed Sam and his eyes rolled back into his head. That had been the end. Dean had no more fight left in him.

Then he felt the tug. Castiel gathered Dean up and snapped away from Stull to Gunnison Island.

It was a familiar pressure that drew him here. He was connected to Israfel in a way that was different from his other brethren. So, even though he had not seen her since they raised Dean from Perdition, he still felt her existence in a profound way.

He saw her as he drew closer to the birds. She sat silently stroking a large pelican. Her wings spread out behind her with one wing sending out tiny rainbows of light. "Hello Castiel."

"Israfel. I have missed you." He crumpled at her feet with Dean in his arms. He pressed his head to her leg and she placed her hand on his head.

"So much has happened. What must we do?" She looked down at Dean with sympathy and continued to stroke Castiel's head.

"I am not sure. There are those that wish to use him to open the borders between the realms. He is not safe anywhere. I don't know what to do."

"We will fix this." She was calm, and it seemed to remove some of the desperate intensity from Castiel. He gazed up at her face with eyes glowing down at him with love. Her wings wrapped around him and Dean. He stared at the new wing with wonder.

"Your wing? How..."

"This is a special place. I woke here some days ago with this." She spread the new wing out beside her. "It is a gift. I think that I was given it because I will be needed. Like I said, we will fix this." She stole a glance at Dean before looking back into Castiel's eyes.

"I don't see how. I have seen the visions. They all point to this ending badly. He has a whole series of visions about tablets and sealing the various realms. In the visions there is always failure. It is almost as though his memories are fighting the same losing battle that we will face here."

"And where is Sam in all of this?"

"He has to be recovered from the cage. It is the only way that Dean will choose to fight through this. Without Sam, he has no will to live." Castiel looks down at Dean with something that briefly resembles defeat.

"There is still much for him to live for if he could just remember it, but you are right about Sam. He is important." She looks past Castiel and cocks her head to the side as if listening to a distant voice. "You will have to find a way to recover Sam from the cage. Balthazar will help you. You will go to him first."

"Do you know something that you are not telling me?" He stares at her for a moment while she seems to consider her answer.

"I am not sure how I know this, but I have seen you enter Hell with Balthazar. You will emerge with Sam and bring him here. I will watch over Dean."

"How could you know this? Also, can Balthazar be trusted?"

"You will have to trust him; he has been searching for you in earnest. I am not sure how I know these things, but I do. But like I said, this place, it is not what it seems to be on the surface. There is something greater here. Our father has touched this place. You can feel it, can't you?"

"I do, but it can't be him. He has not been present for sometime." There is doubt though when he utters these words, because deep down, Castiel has never lost faith completely. There has always been this niggling, frustrating part of him that believed that one day God would show himself and that all would be made right again.

"Perhaps you just need to have faith."

"In my experience that has not amounted to him showing up." He looked at her with exasperation as he got up, leaving Dean at her feet.

"That is your problem, Castiel. You have no faith. But you will find it. After all, good things do happen." She smiled then as Castiel snapped away to see Balthazar.

* * *

_Purgatory_

Mary Winchester sat on what was left of the front porch of the half burned house. The charred remains of the one half still seemed to smolder after all of these years. The other half of the house was a nightmare of peeling paint and vacant, broken windows.

She did not always choose this spot, but old habits die hard. There was not much peace to be had here, and this wretched house provided a bare sense of that old emotion. At least it was enough to temporarily chill her ever brewing rage.

She had been in Purgatory for longer than she had lived on earth. Certainly, it was longer than she should have been here. She brushed back a stray patch of hair behind her ear and listened to the distance.

They always found her. They sought her out, fought her, and, most irritating of all, they talked to her. Perhaps this was really Hell.

She gripped the sharpened bone that lay next to her thigh. Her deceptively willowy firm did not reveal the agile strength that she possessed.

She remembered the first one that came to her. She was new to this sort of fighting, but she was a quick study. The first was a talker, but she was not as annoyed by that then as she later would become.

He seemed to know her. He said that she was the, "Mother of All" or some such thing. She laughed at that. What else could she do? She ended him with a swift series of blows to the head.

Strangely enough, the name stuck. They knew that she was the mother of Dean and Sam. Each one that came to her gave her some small piece to add to the ever growing puzzle of her children's lives.

Much of it though, was not to be believed. "Sam was a vessel for Lucifer... As if that were possible." She rolled her eyes in response to one demon who made this claim before she divested him of his head.

She remembered hearing about John. Her poor John. And the rage simmered again. Fighting them was automatic. It was pure adrenaline. Talking to them only brought the rage. If it weren't for the rage she was sure that she would have ascended. Sometimes she felt as though she had been split in two. She saw glimpses of majestic golden gates and heard the distant melody of angels. Those moments were rare though. They only seemed to come out in times of peace, when the rage had cooled. It did not take much to erase the moments.

The tell-tale sound of a snapping branch had alerted her to the approach of another demon. She waited with her sharpened bone. It had served her well. She had found it some time ago, wedged between the roots of a sycamore. Its sickly branches seemed to hang like the arms of the dead. The roots should not have been so far out of the ground. The bone was large and already a little sharp. She was glad for the weapon. It was much better than the random stones and her battered fists.

The demon rounded the corner with an easy going gate. He was large. His vast expanse of shoulders and troglodytic forehead told her that this one might not be a talker. She sucked in a breath and kind of wished that he was a talker. This would be a tough one.

"Oh, hello Mother." His smile was a leer. His voice was just a touch nasally in a way that caused one to cringe.

She braced for the assault. He did not move, but instead stood still appraising her. This was perhaps more disconcerting. "What do you want?" She finally spoke.

"Me, oh, I just want to enjoy the scenery." He continued to stare at her. "Nothing like an afternoon stroll to clear one's mind."

"You do know that you are in Purgatory?" She did not lower her guard. She dropped her legs a little into a slight crouch, prepared to spring away if he should choose to leap at her.

"Oh, Mother, I have no intention of hurting you. You can relax. And, yes, I do know that I am in Purgatory." He leaned against the half broken railing along the far end of the porch.

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you." She continued to stare at him. She was still prepared to deal with his inevitable attack.

"I come with news for you Mary Winchester."

This was the first time that any of them had spoken her name in this place. Although they knew who she was, they never used a term other than Mother when talking with her. It was odd hearing her own name spoken again. "What news could you have for me?"

"It seems that you will be leaving us soon. You do know that you can leave this place, don't you?" He looked away from her as if trying to make himself seem less threatening.

"I will ascend when it is time." She calculated the steps that she would need to close the distance between them-the trajectory of her swing with the bone. His position did not provide her with the advantage. The railing was an obstacle.

"No, you will need to make your own way. Dean and Sam are in need of a Mother's touch." His smile is lascivious.

"Enough talking. Either fight me or leave. I am done with you." She took a tentative step back toward the other end of the porch that was open to the wasteland beyond.

"What, you don't want to know how your boys are doing? You don't want to return to them?" His mock concern drew another backward step from Mary. "Very well." He leapt at her over the railing. It was fluid and completely inhuman. In his movement he seemed to become noncorporeal. His body was a dark fog that swiftly swarmed around her. She could not move away fast enough. The fog surrounded her, choking her, pressing down onto her. A deep throaty laugh rumbled from the form. She swung her arm in front of her. The bone passed through the fog. The pressure lessened though, enough for her to squirm back a few inches before being engulfed again.

"What do you want from me?" She choked out as the pressure of his form intensified around her. She could feel him pressing against her thighs and hips, endeavoring to terrorize her in that simple way. She glared at what she thought was his face, defiance and rage clear in her eyes.

"Oh, Mother, you remind me of Dean. You feel just like him, so warm, so malleable. Hmm." the pressure on her hips increased. She raised the bone again and swiped at the area that had seemed to press the most. It bucked back into a solid form off of her body and clear across the porch. "Now, now, there is no need for that. I think that we could be friends you and I." His nasally leer was back as he cocked his head to the side and and winked. "I guess that I will just have to use him then. And here I thought that you would be the best choice. Oh, well. The things that I will do to him. The things I have done to him. Hmm." He turned away from her then.

She knew that she would regret this. Deals with demons never worked out for her, but what else was there in this place? "Wait. I am listening."

* * *

_Hell_

Crowley had his back to them as he sang, "Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth ? Ooh, heaven is a place on earth. They say in heaven love comes first .We'll make heaven a place on earth…"

"I think that I will be sick." Balthazar sneered. Castiel looked at him in agreement.

It took just two short moments for Balthazar to catch up with Castiel after he had snapped out of their conversation. It took no conversation for them to end up with Crowley back in Hell.

"Hello, boys. To what do I owe this pleasure?" He turned from items that lay on the long desk to really look at them.

"We have come for Sam." Castiel graveled out.

"Interesting. Not able to help with that one. He is a little indisposed right now." The angels both moved on him in an instant, but Crowley was too fast and snapped over to the other side of the room. "I could do this all day."

"Why do you need him?" Balthazar spoke up this time.

"I don't, but you seem to. So, this makes me less inclined to help. You, know, King of Hell and all. I really shouldn't be doing either of you any favors. It isn't good for my reputation." He directed his smile over at Castiel then at Balthazar.

"You know why we need him, then?" Castiel lowered the angel blade into his hand.

"I know that he can help patch up Dean. I know that Dean is going to lower the borders. This all seems like a winning situation for me right now. I like the thought of a world without borders. I have been thinking of expanding." He spread his hands out at his sides to indicate the room.

"Did it ever occur to you that your realm is only worth a tinker's damn if there are souls to populate it?" Balthazar spat out. Crowley looked at him with barely masked confusion.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"What do you think will happen when the borders to Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven are lowered? What do you think will happen to the humans? Do you think that everyone will just hold hands and sing Kumbaya? Do you think that your souls will stick around?" Balthazar huffed over to a low sofa and tossed his body down with exhaustion.

"Never been much of a fan of those humans, but I do like their tasty little souls. It would be a shame to lose that little delicacy. I also, rather like having my souls close at hand." He moved over to the chair across from Balthazar. Castiel still loomed near the desk. "What do you want me to do about this?"

"How do we remove him from the cage without unleashing Lucifer and Michael?" Castiel asked.

Crowley tented his hands in front of his chin and appeared to be thinking over the problem before he spoke, "I will need your blood and a little of that precious oil you boys are so fond of." Crowley slowly eased up out of the chair and walked over to the desk. He scooped up a large metal goblet, held it out in front of himself and said, "Now, who is going to bleed for me first?"

Balthazar thrust out his arm and replied, "And so, it begins."

* * *

_Dreams of Cicero_

Castiel had walked in Dean's dreams before Sam had joined him. Each of the memories troubled him in new ways. In the end though, he always came back to three moments. The first was the park bench. He watched as Dean spoke with his other self. He cherished the sound of the voice that seemed so filled with doubt and defeat. He longed to fix him. He did not know where to begin.

The next memory is a golden dock stretched out on a placid lake. Dean sits alone staring out at the water. He creates a bottle of beer in his hand and places it next to the chair that Dean occupies. Sometimes Dean sees him. Usually he doesn't. Once they spoke here. It was brief though. Castiel was too eager. Change was good. It meant that maybe he could break through. Well, that was what he thought. He has revisited that place though, and all that greets him now is silence. He would not bring Sam here. This was not for Sam. It was his place with Dean. Besides, there was nothing for Sam to learn here.

The third memory was of Dean back in Cicero. He was standing outside raking leaves. Castiel never tried to be seen here. He just watched Dean's robotically, slow raking. This was an odd memory. It never seemed to serve a purpose and he did not put it here. It never turned into death or torture. It never was anything more than Dean raking. He had grown accustomed to Dean suffering after having visited so many of his dreams, but it was the lack of physical suffering that was the hardest to deal with.

True, there was anguish on his face, sometimes, as he raked the leaves, but more often Dean's face was passive. It was almost like he wasn't even here.

He was about to depart again to help with Sam's recovery when he sensed a difference. Dean was still raking the leaves, but something was hovering just behind Castiel's shoulder. He turned away from Dean to confront the intruder.

The dark figure stood just a few feet from Castiel. His broad shoulders and hulking form were unexpected even beyond the fact that Castiel sensed him before he turned around. The two just stared at each other. The figure shimmered then sent out from its sides foggy tendrils. It was as if it was having trouble maintaining a corporeal form.

"What are you?" Castiel whispers not expecting an answer. He does not interact with the beings in Dean's dreams. They can't see him or hear him. They don't actually exist. When he asks the question he even leans forward, staring more at the figure.

The answer startles him. The nasally voice that he hears is too familiar, "Hello, angel. You shouldn't be here." The foggy tendrils make their way towards Castiel before retreating back into the figure.

Castiel steps back again. "Alastair." His voice takes on a note of menace.

"Ahh, you remember me. I thought that this look would conceal me a little. Oh, well. I am not here for you. Look at him, all simple and domestic. Precious." Alastair's leer drawn out on the last word.

"Sam killed you. You can't be here."

"And yet, here I am." He spread out his arms and foggy tendrils smoked around them.

"How?"

"I have my ways. I don't plan to divulge my plans just yet. I really wasn't expecting you. I merely came to see Dean." Alastair made a move toward Dean. Castiel broadened his stance and moved between the two.

"I can't let you do that." he growled out.

"Why not? It is just a dream-a memory. It doesn't matter. You do not need to concern yourself with this." Alastair smiled at him.

"Clearly, I will not allow that." The angel blade materialized in Castiel's hand. He raised it between them.

"Oh, angel boy. This plan has been in the making for some time. You can't stop it. If it makes you feel better, I will stand down for now. But make no mistake, I will not be gone, not really." He taps his head seeming to signify that all of this is floating around in Dean's mind.

Castiel charges forward with the blade. Alastair dissolves into fog and vanishes. Castiel stops near the spot where Alastair had stood. He feels the chill of his presence still lingering in the air. He doesn't know what is beginning here, but he is beginning to feel as though it is the end.


	3. Chapter 3

And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dryland appear: and it was so. And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the water called he Seas: and God saw that it was good. And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so. And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind: and God saw that it was good. And the evening and the morning were the third day. Genesis 1:9-13

* * *

_Dean Dreams of Hell_

This was not really a dream. It was a memory. It was born of pain, torture, and the beginnings of hopelessness. Dean lay on the rack watching the long blade slicing long down his torso. The thin strips of flesh peeling away from muscle with a sick, slurping sound. There were no screams. He had endured worse and the same for years-so many years that he barely remembered any other life.

It was just this. The endless peeling away of his layers. Sometimes there was talking, and sometimes there was listening. He hated the talks. Alastair loomed over him, "What, is this a silent day, Deany?"

Dean stared back at him. He just wanted to power through this, but he knew from so much experience that there was never any powering through. You just endured and a little more of you gave up each time. "Just ask the question."

"No, it is too early for that. Unless, of course, you have a different answer for me." He peered down into Dean's face, swooping closer to Dean's cheek. Dean shuddered at the movement and stopped breathing. Alastair brushed his cheek along Dean's and whispered in his ear, "Oh, you are so close. We are so alike Dean-so alike. I wish that you could see it all like I see it."

"I am nothing like you," Dean spat at him, but when he tried to turn his head away, Alastair gripped his face in his overly large hand, dragging Dean's gaze back to his.

"Oh, Dean. There is that bravado-that fierce, battle-scarred fighter I love so much. You just don't see it yet, but you will. Believe me, you will." He released his face then and resumed his slicing.

Time passed slowly for Dean, but at least Alastair was silent. He screamed; he cried; he hovered in the dark moments that should have ended him. His being reformed only to be split again. Eventually, Alastair spoke again.

"Did you know that I have not always been like this?" He looked at Dean not really seeming to expect an answer. "I was so much bigger once-in the beginning." He set the knife down now and passed a hand over Dean, restoring the pulled apart pieces. "I was without form. Now, I am this. It has taken some time for me to get here to this moment, but I am...patient." The last word was spoken softer than the others and with the nasally leer that Alastair often used when he was contemplative.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I think that when you see just how much we are alike that you will see that you do not have to hold out any longer. I think that you just need a new perspective." He moved casually to Dean's other side, running his hand up Dean's entire leg as he went. The touch sent involuntary shivers up Dean's form.

"I guess that this is a talking day then. Well, wake me up when you finish story time." Dean turned his head away from Alastair. He expected to feel the rough hand on his face, but it did not materialize.

Alastair just continued talking as though Dean had not interrupted. "God has a funny way. He doesn't just cobble together anything new. He gathers up materials that are already doing just fine as they are. He just scoops them up and molds them into something else. He does not seem to see the beauty in chaos, in formless voids. It is all about new beginnings with him. He likes making new things out of old things. I was the first old thing." He looks down at Dean while he says this and begins making shallow cuts along his thigh.

"I admit, I lost my sense for a little while. I lacked purpose, Dean. Do you know what it is like to lack purpose?" He moved up to Dean's face as if he expected an answer, but Dean did not reply.

"Well, the silent treatment huh? I tell you, it was hard working out the details. It was hard being patient, but you were worth it. When I look at you, I see me. Your soul calls to me, Dean. It sings my name, like we were meant to be together. Do you hear it?" As he says this last part he cuts deep into Dean's chest and scoops out a glowing mass of soul. "Listen to it calling me."

Dean"s screams electrify the room. They reverberate and bound off of the walls. He has known pain in this existence, but nothing like this. His mind is scattered in so many places. "Make it stop, please make it stop." He barely breathes out.

"Will you take up the knife?"

Silence. Then Dean's weak reply, "No."

Alastair places the mass back into Dean, but not before shaving a bit off of it first. The little spare piece is tipped into a vial on the side table near the rack. "I will just keep this little piece. You don't mind do you?"

Dean felt the loss. It was like a sucking chest wound. He could barely breathe, but it was not as bad as when all of it was in Alastair's hands. "I should show you the souls that I have been collecting. A little sliver here, and a little sliver there. I even managed to get a little grace once. That was lovely. I haven't been the same since. You know what they say, once you get a little grace in you, you never want to go back to just souls." He meandered back to Dean's side. "You know what I mean don't you, Deany boy?"

"No, I don't. Enlighten me." Dean muttered between shallow breaths.

"Oh, but you do know. You just don't remember. You have a guardian angel. He has been dipping a little grace into you here and there for years. Skinned knee, a little grace will fix that up." Alastair used his blade to slowly slip the skin off of Dean's knees. "Stub your widdle toe, a little more grace." He slipped down to Dean's feet and plucked the smallest toe from each foot with the flick of his blade. Dean bit back his screams. He stared away from the actions and tried to turn his mind off, but he knew that that would be a losing battle.

"Why don't I remember any of that?" Dean tried to distract Alastair from his task. Sometimes talking worked. Mostly, it didn't.

"Oh, it's all in here Dean. Your soul is a wonderland of details. One day Dean…" He paused and looked deep into Dean's eyes, "Hmm, I think that I am done with story time today." He looked away then. I will tell you more when you take up the knife. It won't be long now." When he ceased talking Alastair shimmered then turned into a rolling mass of dark fog. He enveloped Dean and the only sound in the room was the muffled sounds of Dean's weeping.

* * *

_Earth, On the Third Day_

As the world was being created God looked to the darkness around the nearly formed planet. It was time to bring color and life into the dark place. The rolling darkness and fog were pressed into more manageable forms. All of this happened in an instant. All with just a thought. The waters held off, the earth appearing, and the plant's rapid growth all seemed to come from the fog.

There was one place that stood out. It was lush with his creations. All of his plants could be found here on perfect display. This place was filled with vibrant green grasses blowing about in a slight breeze. In the center though, there was a dark, foggy mass. It was a remnant of the old formlessness and void that had existed before.

He stared at it intently, contemplating his next creation, seeing beyond this moment to the vast years to come. The fog seemed to billow out, thinning and growing at the same time. Then it became solid. The central portion of it became a trunk that was dark and rough. the topmost portion became a full canopy of dark green leaves. It shivered in the breeze. It was a fruit bearing tree, but it did not have any fruit yet.

That would do. God moved beyond this place, knowing what was to come, but letting it come none the less. The tree was providing a lack of symmetry and took away from the perfection of the place, but nothing should be perfect. True beauty comes from the little differences, the deviating choices that take one down a seemingly unexpected path. This was the beginning of beauty, and it was good.


	4. Chapter 4

And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days and years: And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so. And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also. And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth, And to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good. And the evening and the morning were the fourth day. Genesis 1:14-19

* * *

_Heaven and Earth_

Lucifer moved through the Heavens with luminescence and grace streaming from him like tentacles made of the purest light. He was different from his brethren and quite important on this the fourth day-a day of light.

Each angel was given some task or some unique ability that set them apart. It was an innate part of them, and God seemed to like the way that it made them each just a little different. Days were different in the first "days" of creation. They were a millennium or seconds. Time held no importance. There was just Heaven and Earth and newness. And it was good.

Light would be brought to the universe next, and it too would be good. Lucifer was the Angel of Light. He would be a part of this next round of creation. He would stand by his father and bask in the love that he felt for him and the things that he created.

He stood beside God and looked out into the darkness as he released small trails of light around his being. "Lucifer, what do you see before you?"

"Darkness." His answer was simple and very literal.

"Yes, but what else?" God looked at the expression on Lucifer's face and waited. "What do you think of the darkness?"

"It is hideous. I prefer the light." Lucifer looked back at God, seeking approval.

God smiled slightly then spoke again, "The darkness is not hideous. It is beautiful. For how can we know light without it?"

Lucifer nodded in acknowledgement, but did not speak. He was happy. Perhaps darkness could be beautiful.

When the creation of light was complete, and it was good, Lucifer returned to Heaven to reflect on the time that he spent with his father. His father's creations were all beautiful. They all reflected the light and joy that he felt. He decided to make his way to Earth to be among his father's creations-to feel the grasses beneath him and the cool rush of air along his wings.

He allowed his wings to spread wide on the currents of air, sending out light in all directions as he made his way toward the garden. The trees had grown much since the last time that he had been here. They created a canopy of green leaves that shaded the earth beneath them. He liked the way that the light trickled through the branches into patterns on the ground. The shapes danced in the breeze and mesmerized him.

In the distance there was a different tree. It was so unlike the first trees that he had to stop and stare with admiration. He lifted his wings again and soared over for a closer look. The tree was dark. The trunk was a craggily mess of lines and pits from the base to the topmost portion. The leaves were a green color that was so dark that they seemed to prevent the passage of light from above to the ground below.

"Hello, little tree." Lucifer sent out tendrils of light around the tree in a type of embrace. The tree shuddered a bit. Lucifer stepped back. "You are different. Why do you fear me?" He sent out the light again, but the tree shuddered beneath the touch. "There is nothing to fear. Light is life." He did not know why he tried to communicate with the tree. It just seemed like this was something more than the other creations.

So when the response came to him, not with words, so much, he was not wholly surprised. _I prefer the dark._

* * *

_Balthazar's Journey_

The weight of Sam's unconscious body was making the journey harder. Under normal circumstances this would not have been an issue, but Hell was taxing. Doing this without Castiel was taxing. Being drained of his blood was taxing. Feeling his grace torn in the abyss, with all of the other issues, was perhaps the most taxing of all..

Each angel was given something special-something to set them apart. He wished that his gift could have been useful now, but it wasn't. For Balthazar that certain something was bonds. It was an odd gift for him to receive. For never before had an angel been born so independent. Yes, he was obedient and all of that, but he certainly tested the limits. Perhaps it was God's love of irony that caused this gift to fall into his lap. Balthazar could only speculate at the mind of God. He knew that he would never really comprehend it, but he did accept it.

He had a lot of time to contemplate now, with Sam's dead weight in his arms and Castiel missing in Hell. He had not wanted to leave Castiel behind. It tore at him. He wanted to rush back into the narrow chasm behind him, but he did not. Castiel would not be happy with that. It was all about the Winchesters, and everything else could just go to Hell-again and again apparently. He regretted the part that he played in the forming of Castiel's bond with Dean. He regretted it when he saw the pain etched on his brother's face. Angels were not made to feel like this. It was destructive, and he knew of no cure.

He thought about Castiel then. He was an angel with an unusual gift. He was a warrior-an angel of Thursday some say. Others would say an angel of Thor's Day. He is a hammer. He is a tool of destruction and also creation. He would be upset to hear himself described in this way. He does not seem to view himself as a hammer, but that is because he does not see all of the sides of this description. They pound and flatten and make a lot of noise. They are used to create. They are used to make the various raw materials stick together. They are tools for making bonds. Perhaps this was why he and Castiel had, for the most part, gotten along.

And because of his gift, Castiel is drawn to the fields of battle. He is pulled toward humanity and all of its struggles. It is God's will. As he held Sam, Balthazar felt sadness for Castiel and the struggle that he must endure. He felt sad because there was no way for a hammer to fix this mess. There could be only destruction. There could be only loss. No amount of love could change that, and for that he was sad.

Sometimes he hated his gift. What good was a bond when it only seemed to bring pain. It was far easier to be a free agent, like he was. He felt certain that he could find peace of mind when all of the immediate dramas were done, or so he told himself. The boy in his arms would not make it without a bond-something to hold onto his fractured soul. He had already decided that it was over for Sam, but he still made his way out of Hell. He had promised to take Sam to Israfel, and so it would be. Dead or alive, Balthazar was going to deliver Sam and thus fulfill his promise to Castiel.

He laid Sam on the ground and peered out around the vast wasteland that surrounded him. This place would have to do for now. He needed to replenish his grace and allow his vessel time to heal. He would have to begin his journey to Israfel later.

* * *

_Purgatory_

Mary saw them in the distance, but she remained hidden. The demon stood just over her shoulder following her eyes to the distant pair. The demon wrapped a dark tendril of fog around her and whispered into her mind, _That is your ticket out of here._

She continued to gaze at the angel and the tall man at his feet. _How will it work? _She thought back. This new means of communication between them only worked when he wrapped her in the fog. It was unpleasant to say the least. It was invasive and felt like a violation of all that she had left of her privacy. Between them there was no trust, so his presence in her mind felt dangerous and terrifying all at once.

_You will hold fast to the angel just as he slips into the portal between here and the earth. He will not willingly take you with him, so you must do this in secret._

_What about the other one?_

_The human cannot carry you to the other side. As you can see, he is not doing so well._

Mary looked back at the demon, _What is in this for you?_

The demon was capable of restricting her access to his thoughts. She could feel him turning her away as she tried to look into his motives. The fog that swirled around her seemed to loosen and then it retreated. There would be no answer for her today. She wondered, not for the first time, if this deal would prove to be a horrible mistake. What could she do though. He had given her some of his memories. She knew what Dean had experienced in Hell. She could not let him experience that again-no matter the cost.

The angel seemed to be settling in for what passed for night in this place. He had seated himself in front of the lanky man, his legs crossed in front of him and pulled to his chest. She wondered at his presence here. The light, or what passed for light, in the sky seemed to grow dimmer, and the night screeches began. She had lost all fear of the sounds some time ago, but clearly the angel found them troubling. The noise of the creatures grew and swarmed back in the trees behind the angel. He suddenly stood up, unfurling his wings as he did so.

He spun toward the trees keeping his body close to the unconscious man. The noises seemed to grow closer. "Damn, harpies," he said just loud enough to be heard at this distance.

The tendrils of fog gripped her tight, _You will need to move. Follow him, but stay hidden._

The angel scooped up the man and began running away from the trees. Mary grabbed her weapon and sprang after him leaving tendrils of dark fog in her wake.


	5. Chapter 5

And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven. And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good. And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth. And the evening and the morning were the fifth day. Genesis 1:20-23

* * *

_Hell_

The Angel of Thursday slept, but did not sleep. The room pressed on him. He could feel the humid air seeping into him as it covered his vessel's flesh in sticky sweat. He should be rushing from this place, but he could not find the energy. The will even seemed to leave him. What was out there after all? Nothing but death and destruction awaited him, so why bother. He could not be a hammer anymore and he never wanted to be again.

He kept his eyes closed against the room. His world would just be the inside of his mind. He concentrated on the sweat that was forming on his brow. He could feel each individual globual as they slowly built up. One began to make its way slowly down his temple. He could feel the next one gathering and trickling and dropping from his chin down to his adam's apple. Nothing else mattered but this. He could just lay here and let it happen. What was this place doing to him?

_Dean._ That one word, a name whispered in his memory like a benediction. He could not do anything for him. He did not even know how to give him back his memories. Why would he even want them? Perhaps it is best to lie here while the world ends.

_Dean._ And again the name calls him back to himself. Even just seeing him one more time would be worth this, all of this. And even if he never remembers, even if he can never accept it, Castiel wants to tell him how much he matters-not just to the world, but to an angel.

He opened one eye slowly. Next, he opened the other. The walls around the room were lined in vials of pure light. The warmth of the room was coming from them. He did not remember how he got there. He did not remember how he had gotten separated from Balthazar, but some things were starting to come back. He felt a tug on his grace. It was weak. He struggled to get up from the floor. When he finally managed to move his body across the room, the wall's dimensions became much more clear. There were thousands upon thousands of the tiny vials lined up as far as he could see.

Why keep them this way? What were they being used for? He felt the tug again-a little stronger this time. He followed it to a distant vial that was different from the others. His grace. He remembered the sick look of triumph on Alastair's face as he slowly carved away at him. He remembered the way that he slivered away his grace and captured some of it in a vial-this vial. It was so long ago. The memory was so distant that it was almost too much to recall it now.

_I have enjoyed our little time together. Angel, you don't even know how much joy you bring to me. Cutting into the human souls was getting to be old, tiring. And then you came along, and I remembered what it was like to live again. If only you had stormed in here sooner. I worry that I have become rusty, that I am disappointing you…_

When Uriel had stormed into the room of torture all those years ago, it did not seem real to Castiel. The salvation from what seemed like years of torment had been confusing. He had been crushed from the room, and at the time he had only one wish, that Alastair had perished in the battle with Uriel. Sadly, he did not. Eventually, Alastair would have Dean, and all of this would become Dean's nightmare too.

He could not think about it anymore. He gripped the vial containing his grace in his hand and removed the stopper. It sang with warmth in his hands as he pressed it back into his body. He could feel it as it moved through him, fusing with the rest of his grace. It was then that he felt another tug, but this one was different. This piece had a different claim on him. He followed it in the opposite direction.

_Dean._ He could see the golden, glowing light of Dean's soul. He would recognize it anywhere. He pulled it loose and cradled it to his crest. Looking down, he noticed that it was more than just the soul. There were thin tendrils of grace swimming around the soul sliver. Now that they were near him, the two pieces seemed to dance together in flowing orbits. Each piece seemed to fight for the outside position, as if to protect the other from the dangers that lie just beyond the vial. Their dance was captivating. "Only you would have a soul that would try to protect an angel's grace." He scooped up a nearby pouch with a long drawstring and slipped Dean's soul vial into it. Then he put it on like a necklace, tucking the bag into his shirt for safekeeping until he could return it to Dean.

A moment later the space at his side was filled by a familiar form, "Crowley."

"So, what have you found here?" His question came out slowly. His casual glance around the room spoke of actual confusion.

"I imagine that you have more of an explanation for this than I could possibly find." Castiel raised his hands toward the vials palms out.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Crowley nearly squaked in alarm.

"I can't leave them. Clearly, there is something more going on here." Castiel looked back at Crowley waiting for the challenge that he was certain would come.

"I should have known that Alastair was up to something. He was too convenient, too easy to work with."

"You knew that he was alive, and you said nothing?"

"King of Hell, remember. Not too inclined to help." He stepped away from Castiel just slightly.

"He is the one that is trying to remove the borders." Castiel still stood with his arms held out in front of himself, prepared to absorb the souls into his being.

"You might have mentioned that before."

"Angel of the Lord, remember. Not too inclined to help you." A wry grin perked up on his face.

"Well, now this is a bit of a pickle. You can't take in all of these souls. It would be too much, but…"

"I will not leave them here," Castiel quickly interrupted.

"Perhaps there is another solution. We will divide them up, sixty forty. I can't have all of that power in the hands of an angel that would just as soon see me ended."

Crowley raised his hands to the wall of souls alongside Castiel, and, without another, word they began pulling the souls into them. The vials shook and cracked. The glowing tendrils of dancing light began pouring out in swirls and eddies. Some of the souls rocketed toward Castiel and Crowley. The longer they stood there the less the light danced. It became much more like two solid beams of light streaming into each of them.

It was painful. All of that torture swirling around in his being. His grace felt small in the mass of roiling chaos. Crowley looked no better, but that was not a concern.

"What now?" Crowley asked casually once the deed had been done.

Castiel felt the warmth of Dean's soul stirring against his chest and said, "I need to get to Sam and Dean."

"Then, I guess that we should be going." With that Crowley reached out to Castiel and they found themselves in Purgatory.

* * *

_Purgatory_

Balthazar was nearing the portal out of Purgatory when he felt the burn of talons on his arm. It was more than he had been anticipating. He had heard them gaining on him. He had felt the heat of their wings beating the air just above him before they began swooping down at him. He lost his grip on Sam and could not recover him quickly enough. He stumbled and landed in a heap. Instead of trying to gather up Sam to continue running, Balthazar decided that it would be better to go down fighting.

The angel blade slipped into his hand in an instant, and he raised it up over their bodies toward the mass of wings and talons. The first one sent its head twisting toward Balthazar. It's beaked face snapping at his head just as Balthazar swung his arm swiftly toward the creature's neck. The black liquid that poured out blanketed them in sulfurous stink.

Balthazar did not have time to deal with the mess as there were two other harpies nearing him. They were larger and did not move with the same speed. They would, however, be much more difficult to defeat since they would attack together. It was then that the situation changed. A swift footed blonde woman emerged from the woods just behind the creatures. She raised a long weapon in her hands and attacked one of the creatures.

"Well, that evens up the odds a little." Balthazar took on the opposite creature and the two fighters worked together. They found themselves back to back dodging the slashes of the talons. The movements of the creatures were hard to counter as there was movement from talons, wings, and beaks. The stench of the creatures poured from their beaks. It was disorienting. Balthazar forced himself to stop breathing, but he still felt his face beginning to burn under their toxic breath. And if their smell was not bad enough, their appearance was even more terrifying. The razor sharp talons descended from overly long legs that protruded from the torso, just below the creatures' sparsely covered breasts. The feathers that were here and there on that portion of the creatures looked painful and seemed to serve no particular purpose. The eyes of the creatures were crimson and black. The stare that they gave was pure purpose. They had only one task. They tortured to make the inevitable killing last longer.

Just as Balthazar was falling back, the woman rolled across the ground, raising her weapon at an odd angle above her as she did so. The movement caused her weapon to slice through the underbelly of the beast. Its vile black liquid raining down on her.

Balthazar was by now pressed firmly into the ground. The talons were ripping at his chest. The woman whipped the blood from her eyes and swiftly slashed through the back of the harpie. It let out a deafening screech as it fell heavily onto Balthazar.

"Well, now, that could have been worse," came Balthazar's weak comment from beneath the body of the harpy. He could feel it being rolled off.

When he was finally free, he looked up into an unexpectedly smiling face. A face covered in black goo and filth. The smile though, that was what he focused on. "Come on," she said as she reached out a hand to the angel. "You don't want to be sitting around here waiting for a second showing. Plus, this is no place for an angel."

Balthazar took her offered hand, "I couldn't agree with you more."

* * *

_Heaven and Earth_

Lucifer finds himself in the garden more and more. He contemplates the darkness around the tree. Occasionally, the tree does something unusual. Its branches shiver and send out little bursts of black fog. He is not sure why the tree is so mesmerizing. It is not like the other things that his father has created, but it is still just a tree.

He moves closer to it. As he approaches he senses that the tree is aware of his presence. _I am the Angel of Light._ He sends out the thought as he would to his brethren.

_I prefer the dark._ That same phrase from before, only this time it is spoken with more menace.

_My father has created you._

_Wrong, he has tried to destroy me. He has trapped me, stolen my world. _Thethoughtsseepedintohismind like a weakvenom.

_All that my father does is good. All that he does is loving._

_He does not love me._

_He does. Look at the special form that he gave you. You stand out from all of the other plants in his world. He must love you to make you so special._

_I am making myself what I once was. He tried to remake me. What you see as special has nothing to do with his creation. He would rather confine my form in a base creation._

_I don't understand._

_You couldn't. You are too simple. You are like the other angels that I have seen. You do not wish to have knowledge about anything more than what your father has given to you. You are made to follow. You are blind, Angel of Light. _The last thought was delivered with a biting edge to it that chilled something in Lucifer. He did not have much experience with negative emotions. In fact, none of his brethren did. He felt curiosity growing in him though, and he wanted to know more about this creature. He lowered himself to the ground near the trunk and folded his knees under himself.

_Tell me about what it was like before. _

_Instead, you should let me show you._ Lucifer gave a slight nod at the tree. Thin, dark wisps of fog trickled from the branches. They slowly eased around the angel's body. Each tendril seemed to vibrate as it came into contact with the angel's form. Lucifer looked up with surprise at the sensation that it stirred. He closed his eyes then to better immerse himself in the new feeling brewing low in his stomach.

_What is this? _Lucifer asked about the feelings that were now spreading through him, consuming him, pleasing him.

_It is just me. _The voice seemed to purr now. _This was how I felt before. I was free and larger than anything you see here. All of that freedom and movement cascading about was the gift of my existence. It was pleasurable?_

The feelings had somewhat retreated, _Yes, it was quite pleasurable. But you still have that feeling. Otherwise, you could not have shared it with me._

_That was just a memory. It is not the same. _

_How is it different._ Lucifer looked disappointed as the fog retreated, taking with it the new sensations.

_They will never be new for me. They will never differ. I will be doomed to just re-experience the same things for an eternity. It would be better to cease to exist._

At that Lucifer immediately bounded to his feet. He did not know what to do. There was no physical act that could fix that last statement, but he felt an overwhelming desire to act physically. _I will speak with my father. He can fix this._

_No._

_What do you mean?_

The tree shook. It looked like fear. _If he fixes me I will still exist, but he will further confine me within this form. We will not speak like this anymore if that happens, bright one._

_What can I do? _Lucifer gazed at him with genuine concern.

_For now, just keep visiting me. I find our time together to be quite pleasurable too. _And for the moment, Lucifer slipped back down to sit against the trunk of the tree, and thin tendrils of fog wrapped around him in a possessive embrace.

* * *

_Purgatory_

An angel and a demon walked into Purgatory, or so it seemed. Castiel looked at Crowley, "How did you move us here so easily?"

"We are packing a lot of power with these soul pieces. I imagine that I could take us all the way out, but this seemed less risky."

"This will do. I must be sure that Balthazar has escaped with Sam." Castiel cast his gaze around the wasteland. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" Crowley cocked his head to the side in his best imitation of Castiel.

"Stop trying to be funny and listen." The irritation clear in his voice. "That sound," he added after a pause.

In response Crowley just ran. He ran like a mad man fast and somewhat clumsily through the trees. The smell of something toxic hit Castiel just as he realized that he too should be running. He bolted in the direction that Crowley had just run. He could hear his running in the not so great distance, but more concerning than the head start that Crowley had, was the growing screams coming from the creatures that were nearing him. He recognized their sound now-harpies.

As he burst through the trees he saw Crowley come to a stop near a small gathering of people. Actually, two people and one angel. Two were standing while the other was sprawled in a heap on the ground. Near them were what looked like piles of feathers and pools of black blood.

He continued to run toward them. Then he realized who he was running to and how he was leading the dangerous creatures right toward Balthazar and Sam. "Run!"

Strangely enough, they did not all run. Balthazar scooped up Sam and along with Crowley ran. The woman though, did not run. She braced herself for the fight. When Castiel reached her, he gripped her arm and dragged her into his run. "What are you doing? We have to fight them. They will catch up with the others."

Castiel turned as he ran. "What are you doing here, Mary. I saw you in Heaven. You can't be here." He continued to run with Mary beside him.

"I don't know. But I do know that we have to fight." She stopped and held her weapon in front of her. Castiel stopped too. He slipped the angel blade into his hand as the harpies descended upon them.

He brought the blade down on the head of the first one in a violent crack. Its skull burst with black blood and brain matter. Mary was already connecting with one while a second and a third paired up against Castiel. Mary was a fan of a stop, drop, and roll maneuver. As the creature tipped back to angle its talons forward, Mary rolled to the side and slashed up and into the soft underside of the creature..

Castiel had managed well with the first creature, but he was not quite as effective against the other two. "We are not winning here and more are coming." In the distance black forms were oozing from the tops of the trees-making their way toward the angel and Mary. Castiel's arm was bleeding and his face was covered in the black goo. It felt as though it was weakening him.

"Perhaps you were right. Run!" Mary dove past the beak of first harpy as she spoke. She grabbed Castiel's arm and pulled him into her run.

They could see the others entering the portal. As they reached it the harpies were grabbing at their backs. Castiel could feel his flesh being torn beneath the ripped fabric of his coat. He dove through the open portal hoping that it would close before the harpies could follow. He felt a tightening around his arm and realized that Mary had gripped him tight as they passed through the portal from Purgatory.

* * *

_Heaven and Earth_

"Lucifer, where have you been these many days? We have missed your bright presence, and I have missed your good company." God spoke to the angel as he approached his back. The angel was looking out at earth.

"I have been spending time on earth, marveling at your creations." His response was flatter than usual. God stepped up beside him.

"You seem different. What has changed?" God looked up into the face that continued to stare out at the earth.

"I am still the same. How do I seem different?" He asked without making eye contact.

"Show me where you have been spending your time." God said by way of an answer.

Lucifer finally looked upon the face of God ,and he was greeted with a smile. He gave God a slight nod and then dove down to the earth. God soared along beside him. They flitted past trees, but not the tree. Lucifer followed the air currents over the great oceans. He flew up the edge of the tallest mountain and down to the blinding white sand beaches of a lonely island. God landed beside him without a word.

After some moments of silence, "Are these the places that have been occupying your time?"

"They have," Lucifer answered simply without looking at his father.

If he had looked, he would have seen his smile drop. God moved back from Lucifer then and snapped up into the sky, climbing swiftly to Heaven. Lucifer stayed on the island for a few beats before leaping into the air-not to follow, but to go another way.


	6. Chapter 6 (Part One)

And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth. And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and **every tree**, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat. Genesis 1:26-29

* * *

_Heaven_

Time is a strange thing when it stretches out in front of you. God called the angels together to witness the next beginning. His newest creation would be perhaps his greatest. The angels seemed to be excited by the prospects of this new form. So, though one might call this the sixth day, the day of man, it was not simply just the sixth day. God had seen beyond it to a future that wound through many paths. It was not destiny that he saw. It was everything that he saw-every possibility and it was good. Of course, that depends on your definition of good.

Dean said once, "I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in Paradise."

God looked at that moment prior to standing before his angels on the sixth day. He looked out at the garden too-at the angel beneath the tree. They would live so much in a day, those future humans. So, though, he would be giving them pain and guilt, he knew that they would find it worth it. Free will would make them stronger in all of the ways that really mattered. He also knew that something should be done to save the creatures that he made first, his angels. And though he could not share this with them, humans would be their salvation too.

With that thought in mind, God and his angels made their way to earth.-to the garden. The tree loomed in the distance. and Lucifer rose to join the others. The tree gave off no dark fog, but it was still a presence that drew the eyes of the angels. God looked to Lucifer for a reaction. The angel did not look back. He instead stared steadily at the tree, a type of sorrow on his face. "Why do you look so sad?"

"I am thinking about the creatures that you will make. What will you use to create them?" Lucifer breaks his gaze on the tree to turn to God.

"I will use the earth, and I will make them in our image."

"You will make them in your image." Lucifer had a tone that seemed to be making a distinction, but he did not elaborate.

"Yes, you have been made in my image too. So, it is our likeness that we shall see in these new creatures."

"Why are they needed?" Some of the angels that stood nearby shared looks of unease at the tone of the questions.

God raised his hand in a placating manner, "Why is anything needed? Life, in all of its forms, is a beautiful thing. This place is beautiful, and why not place something here that can appreciate it in all of its intricate ways. You see things differently here than they will. It is a macrocosmic view versus a microcosmic view and I want this place to be loved in all ways-large and small." With that God stooped down to the earth and placed his hands to the soft, wet patch at his feet. He closed his eyes and light poured from him into the area surrounding him. The gathering of angels lifted their voices in song and the garden seemed to fill with glory.

God opened his eyes and looked about at his angels as they sang. Lucifer did not sing. As he got to his feet, the angels parted. "Life will crawl up from this place. It will all begin with a single cell, sipping on all of that love that was poured into it." He turned to the angels gathered near him, "You will love them as I have loved you. You are all my children." He looked longest at Lucifer and did not move forward immediately. Then, in perfect synchronicity, God and all of his angels flew from the garden and back to Heaven.

* * *

_Gunnison Island_

The Purgatory portal spewed Balthazar out with Crowley. They stood quickly and turned to the opening hoping to see Castiel. When he did not emerge right away Balthazar turned to Crowley and said, "I need to get Sam to Israfel. Castiel will find us when he can."

"Should I follow you or wait for the littlest angel?" Crowley asked before Balthazar could depart.

"Wait for Castiel. Who knows what trouble will follow him out." With that Balthazar flew away with Sam in a snap of wings.

The island seemed to be glowing as he landed with Sam. The day was bright and hot. Israfel walked toward him with her arms outstretched for Sam. She took him and carried him over to Dean and laid him on the ground.

_We should begin the ceremony now, before the others arrive._ She sent her thoughts to Balthazar instead of speaking. The quiet of the island was only punctuated by the distant noises of the birds.

_Are you sure that this human is worth it? You have seen what a bond like this does to angels. Look at Cas. _Balthazar did not want to do this. He did not want to send Israfel into such a bond, but he knew that it was not wholly his choice, and he could see that she had already chosen. _Move him away from his brother. I will begin drawing the patterns._

Balthazar walked a ways from the spot where Dean and Sam lay. He slipped the angel blade into his hand and began making the intricate marks in the earth. The ground was firm and held the shapes well. He worked quickly and efficiently. He concentrated on the bond, getting his mind into the tight focus that would be required for such a connection. It had been some time since he had made the bond between Castiel and Dean, but not so long to an angel. God had compelled him to that task. When Dean had been born, it was determined that a link would be forged between his soul and the angel's grace. The bond would be profound and would forever direct their paths.

He wondered how such a bond would influence Israfel and why she would be willing to enter into such a connection with Sam. He looked back at her while he worked and noticed the way that she leaned over Sam's unconscious body, her wings pulled around them just slightly. The feathers at the tips of her wings brushed back and forth along Sam's arms in a tender caress. Balthazar wondered at the affection that she seemed to have for this human that should not have meant much to her. She looked away from Sam and over to Balthazar, _Are you ready yet?_

_You may bring him over._ She carried Sam over to the symbols and held him while she carefully stepped into the center of the symbols.

This bond would be created differently than the one that he had forged between Castiel and Dean, but it should work. What mattered most was giving Sam enough of a connection to Israfel's grace. Sam needed her to fuse the broken soul that he was carrying around in his body. It was so fractured by his time in the cage that without Israfel he would likely never regain consciousness, or if he did, he would likely be completely insane.

Israfel lowered Sam in her arms and seemed to puff out her chest toward Balthazar. _I will cut into your chest just enough to extract some of your grace. I will press it into Sam's body while extracting some of his soul. He will likely thrash and experience pain. I will not be able to stop once I start, and you will need to hold him as still as you can. _He paused to look deeply into her face before continuing, _Are you sure, Israfel? I mean, really sure?_

_I have never been more sure of anything._ She looked back at Balthazar with the same intensity. _This is just a formality. I have already chosen him in my heart. Whenever Castiel could not watch them, I was chosen to keep watch over them. I watched Sam the most. He was so beautifully human. He never knew me in his waking life, but I walked in his dreams. I believe that he has missed me without realizing what he was missing. I looked into his thoughts now, but they are not clear. He is barely there._

_Then let's begin. _Balthazar raised the angel blade and gently cut a straight line down her chest over her breast bone. He began speaking softly in Enochian. The words tumbling out as he raised his hand to the cut in Israfel's chest. His fingers gently probed the cut. Israfel's face winced in pain. Balthazar continued his movements while speaking more of the Enochian spell. Slight tendrils of grace pooled in Balthazar's hand. Some of the glowing blue-white light wrapped lovingly around his fingers as he moved slowly toward Sam's chest. The wound in Israfel's chest was already healing.

Balthazar's words increased in volume as he began pressing his hand and Israfel's grace into Sam's chest. Sam's body arched up in Israfel's arms. Balthazar quickly looked up at Israfel in admonishment. She held him tighter to her. His movements were more contained. Balthazar reached in further, seeming to manipulate the placement of the grace. He was trying to get the grace as much around Sam's fractured soul as possible. Sam began shaking in Israfel's arms, then stiffening. His face contorted in agony. Balthazar's voice dropped lower as he spoke the last words of the spell. His hand backed out slowly, gently.

Suddenly, Sam bolted upright in Israfel's arms, eyes open. He had a sharp intake of breath. He stared straight into Israfel's face. "You? You are real."

"Yes, I am real, my love, and you are home." She lowered her face to his and brushed a tender kiss on his forehead.

* * *

_Earthbound_

Castiel burst from the portal with Mary clinging to his arm. Crowley stared at them both with a look of detachment. "I was just about to give up and leave."

Castiel brushed past him without so much as a word. He was about to fly to Gunnison when Mary spoke up. "What can I do? Let me help."

Castiel looked at her. He tipped two fingers to her forehead and they moved to Gunnison Island. Crowley snapped into the island in the next instant. "Thanks for the invite; I really feel wanted." Crowley smirked and began walking toward the distant figures of Israfel and Balthazar.

Castiel stared into Mary's face as if he was trying to understand her. "Why can't I read you? It is as if you are not really here."

"I don't know. I do know that when I would find moments of quiet in Purgatory, that I would hear the songs of the angels. Sometimes I even thought that I saw heaven. That place does weird things to your mind though, so I never put any stock into those moments."

"We must be careful. I do not think that your presence here is unplanned. Stay where I can see you. Let's go." Castiel moved toward Dean and the others. He needed to know that Sam was safely returned, and he needed to see Dean. The soul hanging at his chest seemed to intensify in its movements the closer that he came to Dean.

Mary followed him with a little distance between them as they made their way to Dean. Castiel stopped when he heard Sam's voice. "Cas!" The tall man rushed him and wrapped his arms firmly around Castiel's shoulders, drawing him in.

"I am glad to see you recovered; although, it is rather unexpected." Castiel looked past Sam to Israfel and Balthazar and sees the evidence of Sam's recovery. _Israfel, Balthazar, what did you do?_

"Don't be angry, Cas. They saved me. They did what they had to do." Sam moved so that Cas had to look at him, not past him.

"You heard me?"

Sam seemed to contemplate lying first then said, "Yes."

"Then Israfel has made a great sacrifice."

"No greater than you, brother," she responded as she slipped into the space at Sam's side. Her wings folding around them gently.

"I will need to prepare Dean's mind for the return to consciousness. Have you shown Sam Dean's mind yet?" Castiel made his way over to Dean and sat near his head.

"No, we have not had Sam conscious for very long. It has only been a few days."

_Keep an eye on Mary Winchester while I help Dean. I am not sure that she is who she appears to be. Also, you should not let Crowley out of your sights either. I will be too occupied to help for a time._

The angels and Sam looked back at Castiel in acknowledgement. Sam spoke up, "Tell me when I can help. Israfel has filled me in a little."

Sam then turned to Mary, "So, you are my mom?" His face showed his skepticism, but also a little hope.

"I think so. It has been so long, but you are all that I imagined that you would be, Sam." Mary had been subtly crying and dashing away the tell-tale signs before they became too apparent. Now though, she let them flow as she stepped toward her son. Sam raised a hand to her and pressed it against her wet cheek.

"Mom." And that one word sent her into his tight hug. They stood like that, clinging to each other as though the rest of the world was no more. The love was apparent in her arms, and shuddering, wracked sobs escaping from her form.

If Castiel doubted her, some of that doubt had begun to fade. In that moment, all that he saw was love.

* * *

_Heaven and Earth_

Lucifer sat by the tree and stared at the spot that had brought forth the _mudmonkeys_. They had swarmed over the planet in a plague. He viewed their birth and growth with increasing disgust. He could feel the energy from the tree growing weaker as the creatures began squirming up out of the muck. Because God did not create from nothing, they had to be the source of the draw on the tree's strength.

They had been given a part of the life force that had pooled and roiled at the beginning. The fog around him gently slipped through his hair, sending trembles down his form. _I can tell that they are weakening you._

_I am changing. I am losing my senses. Soon, I may not be able to communicate anymore. _There was regret in the way that the thought was shared. The tendrils of fog though, continued their ministrations.

Lucifer pondered, not for the first time, if the tree regretted everything that came from God's creation. It was a selfish thought, but he was becoming more accustomed to those types of thoughts. It was not long ago that he was only able to think of the will of God and the best way to please him. Things were changing, though, and not just for him. There were others that had expressed some thoughts about the humans. They did not all see them the way that God did. They were not so quick though to share their thoughts in a solid manner, but Lucifer could see the beginning of the change in them.

His times with God were brief and cold. He remembered the feeling of warmth that once filled his grace whenever he stood in the presence of his father. He use to long for the intimacy that those moments provided. Now, he only longed for the time in the garden under the tree.

_Do you wish that nothing had been created from your being?_

_What you are really asking is if I would wish away your existence. How can I? You are a part of me. You also understand. Nothing is as close to me as you. We share everything. But, aside from you, there is nothing about this creation that is good for me._

Lucifer sensed that there was something more that was not being shared. He could feel the tendrils retreat as he probed at the thought. Then he decided that it didn't matter. He had been told the very thing that mattered most. He decided to just accept it.

As that thought was forming Lucifer felt the words of God pour out to all of the host, _Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and __**every tree**__, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat._ There was a punch to the words _every tree_ that seemed to be directed at Lucifer. He reached back his hands to the tree and pressed them firmly against the rough bark. God was giving all of this to his humans. Lucifer's rage seemed to boil to the surface.

_You are not his to give. They do not have dominion over you._ He sent his thoughts out to his tree, but they must have traveled farther, because he felt his form being sucked away from the tree and toward the heavens.

God stood before him in the next instant. Gathered near him were many of Lucifer's brethren. They looked upon him with confusion. Some sent out thoughts and questions about his rebellious moment. It was a cacophony of sound and fury.

God sent his voice out over the masses and they fell completely silent. _You have changed Lucifer. Where you were once our most blessed angel, now you are teeming with darkness and doubt._

_You once said that the darkness was beautiful too. _Lucifer responded.

_Yes, I did, but it was beautiful because it shared a bond with the light. You have lost the light entirely. The thing that was most beautiful in you is gone._

_I am still the Angel of Light!_

_Are you? Have you looked at yourself lately?_

Lucifer remembered his reflection in the lake as he had soared down to the tree. He remembered thinking of how lovely the dark tendrils of fog looked as they streamed behind him. He remembered his face that had lost its glow. With those thoughts, he raised his head in defiance and sent out, _I prefer the dark._

_And for that we must cast you out. You will fall to the earth. You will only exist in forms that invite you in. You will be separated from me, and from the host._

Lucifer looked upon God with simmering rage that seemed to roil inside and around him like the formless void that once was the earth and all of creation. _You will do what you must. I am prepared for the consequences._ He turned and looked out at the other angels and wondered if others would be cast down too. _Who will fall with me? _He sent his words out to the masses gathered around God. He was surprised when some moved to his side. He was further surprised when God looked upon them all without anger.

God asked, _Are you ready? _His words were sent out to all of the angels at Lucifer's side.

Together they replied, _Yes._

_Someday you will know that I love you. Someday you will understand. _With that God raised up his hands, and the remaining Host did the same. A powerful force charged forth from them and shot Lucifer and his angels into a rapid freefall to earth.

Their wings aimed down to the earth were the first to burn. The fire spreading up and around their forms creating the look of comets. Lucifer cried out and heard the anguish of his fellow angels. He wondered if the impact of the earth would end him, but he knew deep down that it would not. That would be too easy for him. He would live, confined to this world.

There was one bit of comfort that he found in his thoughts as he burned through the night sky. Just as he neared the point of impact, he realized that he would never have to leave the tree. Falling was a gift. Then his form was crushed into the earth and enveloped in darkness.


	7. Chapter 6 (Part Two)

And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so. And God saw every thing that he made, and, behold, it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day. Genesis 1:30-31

* * *

_In Redwood National Park_

Chuck Shurley strode through the woods with the two small chunks of wood cradled in his arms. They were dark and rough with age. He looked at the way that the area greeted the sunlight. He liked the play of the shadows on the earth and the smell of the redwoods in the wet world. He liked this place; it was good.

The spot that he selected looked like so many others, but he knew that it would be important. He wanted to choose a spot that was near water, and it had to have enough sunlight to encourage growth.

He lowered himself onto the soft earth, and began scooping away until he had a small hole in front of him. He gently set the piece into the earth and smoothed the earth back over it with a few sweeps of his hands. He moved a little ways up the hill and did the same thing again. Into each mound he breathed out a small blue breath. The tinted air lingered above the mound and then seeped into the earth.

A thousand years was a long time for some. This place had to start with all of the best advantages if it were going to work. He had already found spots for the other pieces that he had carried before. These last two were going to be the final ones. The ones that would help it all begin again. And it would not be like it was before; now, out of the chaos there could be peace.

* * *

_Gunnison Island_

Castiel had been sitting by Dean for some time. He had been exploring Dean's memories, trying to find a way to draw him out. He wanted to replace Dean's soul sliver, but he did not want to do it until he could heal some of the manipulated memories. Sam chose to join him. He lowered himself into a cross-legged position on the other side of Dean and waited for Castiel to acknowledge him.

It was a long wait. Castiel was not really here; he was focused on Dean's thoughts at the moment. Just when Sam was about to give in to the demands of his cramping leg, Castiel looked up at him. "Hello, Sam."

"Hello, Cas. How is Dean doing today?"

"I have had a breakthrough since I took you on the memory tour." Castiel sounded hopeful, and it was contagious. Sam let his face break into a smile.

"That's good. That's really good. What did you figure out?" Sam seemed ready to burst out of his skin.

"I believe, that with the help of Crowley, we can use the power of the souls to manipulate his memories. We can interact with him if we insert ourselves into the positions of people that are already communicating with him. For instance, when he was at the dining room table with that family, you could take over the boy's position and I could take over Lisa's position. Since he spoke with them, he could speak with us."

"Do you think that it will work?"

"If Crowley helps. That is the part that may be hard to accomplish. He seems rather fond of bringing up his role as the new _King of Hell_ over and over. He is quick to point out that he does not wish to help us."

"Yet here he is. Why is he here?"

"I have yet to figure that out. He does have a vested interest in keeping the borders up, but he does seem to be overly...present." Castiel looked out at Crowley who was, for the moment, speaking with Balthazar in the distance.

"Well, he is a crossroads demon. What do we have that we can trade?"

"Nothing."

"We'll need to do better, or we have to think of a benefit that he will value. For now, take me on another tour. Maybe we can plan our final path through his thoughts. I wish that I understood how this connects to the borders being lowered."

"I am not sure yet either, but Alastair was in there. I think that there is something in Dean's memories that can be used to bring down the borders. I think that we need to figure it out before he gets to it. Dean has a connection to Heaven and Hell. I believe that if Alastair can connect him to Purgatory, then he will be able to free himself and everything else that has been restricted."

"So Dean is a trigger?" Sam looked concerned and edged closer to his brother.

"Maybe, or maybe he is just a vessel of information. He is Michael's vessel, and the Righteous Man. You and your brother are also connected rather linearly to the first brothers, Cain and Abel. Unfortunately, for you and Dean, there is much that could be at play here. Neither of you were ever destined for a simple existence." Castiel looked at Sam with sadness. It was a look that said that he would move Heaven and earth to fix this. It was also, though, a look of defeat.

"All we can do is try to fix this. Whatever happens later, at least there will be one more in the fight. Let's go get Dean." Sam reached over Dean and grabbed Castiel's hand, squeezed it as though he was willing him to hope, to fight, and then Castiel squeezed back. Maybe there was a little hope left.

_Memories_

"So there are three key memories that were placed here. Three memories that we need to fix in order to get him out of his own head?" Sam asked Castiel from inside of one of Dean's quieter memories. To Sam it looked like Dean was sleeping peacefully, but with the way their lives were, and with the wicked looking jawbone blade laid across Dean's "sleeping" chest, Sam knew that this was not truly a peaceful moment.

"Yes, I think that we will begin with this moment. Dean thinks that he has become a demon." Castiel reaches over and pulls back Dean's sleeve to show Sam a brand that was etched into Dean's skin.

"What is that?" Sam stooped down peering at the mark.

"The Mark of Cain. Dean chose to take on the mark in order to defeat a demon and stop another end of world scenario." Castiel lowered the sleeve and looked up at Sam.

"Mark of Cain, as in Cain and Abel?"

"The same." Castiel stepped back from Dean and Sam did the same.

"So this is the last memory and where we will begin?"

"Yes, and we will work our way back through this to the memory that I showed you of the water supply and the Leviathans. I think that I have shown you enough of the smaller surrounding memories for you to get a the full view of what Dean is facing. When we finish fixing the second memory, I will send you back out. The final memory will be one that I enter alone."

"Why? I could help."

"You can help me more from the outside. I will be in a memory that does not have a second presence that I can safely occupy. I would be distracted by you being there, and it could compromise my focus. On the outside, you can keep an eye on Crowley, make sure that he does not deviate from the plan."

"Balthazar and Israfel are more than capable of watching Crowley."

"I think that you see things that they might miss. You might also watch Mary too."

"Do you think that she will be a problem?" Sam looked unhappy at this thought. He had just gotten his mother back, a mother that he never really knew. It would be just like the Winchesters to get something good only to have it torn away a few seconds later.

"In my experience, I find that often times suffering comes to us from unexpected places. Just be watchful, Sam."

With that the two stepped back and watched the memory play out. Crowley spoke to Dean, a long monologue ending with a request for Dean to come howl at the moon. Sam looked to Castiel and was greeted with a shrug that seemed to say, I didn't make this one. Having seen enough, they left the memory and returned their consciousnesses to Gunnison Island.

_Gunnison Island_

They would rest for the night before taking on the dreamwalk. It was necessary for Sam to be in the best possible condition. Israfel moved to his side by the small campfire. Her arm brushed his as she settled down, crossed her legs and looked out into the night. They had spoken since he woke up. More so, they had not spoken of the bond. It just was, and Sam could feel the draw of her even when she was not in sight. He felt warmth in her presence now, like she was all around him; although, she was merely at his side.

_Are you in my thoughts? _Sam sent out a short question to test the connection.

Israfel moved her hand over to his and gave it a little squeeze. _I am. You are worried about Dean._

_Yes, I don't see this working. I think that I will fail. I do that a lot._

_Have faith. You are capable of so much, Sam. I have watched you do so much already. _She spread her wings a little and allowed one to drape across Sam's shoulder.

_Since you have been watching, then I am sure that you have seen all of the horrors that I have caused. You say that I am capable of so much, but really, I have always only been capable of destruction. Even when all of my intentions were good, I failed, and I destroyed. I am not sure if I am really capable of saving anything._

She took his face in her hands and looked long into his eyes, _I have faith in you. Please have some faith in yourself, in Castiel, in Dean, and in the possibility that good things can happen._

Sam felt the breath from her slightly parted lips and considered closing the gap between them, but he didn't. He slowly stood and began walking to clear his head before going to sleep. _I will try._


	8. Chapter 6 (Part Three)

And Cain went out from the presence of the LORD, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden. Genesis 4:16

* * *

_Memories_

Sam and Castiel stood in a red lit warehouse in Dean's mind. The vision before them was now familiar. Dean would fight with a rumpled, bookish looking man with scruffy facial hair and plenty to say. The figure was an angel, sort of. Castiel had said that he had no knowledge of this one. Metatron was something that Dean's mind had warped with a little help from Hell. This memory was not as fleshed out as the others, but Castiel could see why it existed.

It had all of the components that Dean struggled with. Dean's fears were certainly here. His brother did not trust him. The world was in jeopardy. People he cared about died. He was alone. He was becoming the demon that he always felt that he was. Hell had changed him, and this place, this memory, was a visualization of just how much.

"Seriously, Metatron? Hell has an odd sense of humor?" Sam muttered as they waited for the moment when they could slip into the memory in a more tangible way. They knew that the "Memory Sam" would show up soon. They just had to watch Metatron stab Dean in the heart again first.

"It is odd." The stabbing of Dean occurred and Sam still flinched, despite having seen it all before.

"Okay, so I just step into the other me?" Sam asked while he moved toward Dean.

"Yes, I will help press you into the "Memory Sam" and then you will need to talk to him. Draw him out. Tell him whatever you need to tell him to get him to wake up, to see this for what it is. You will still carry him to the bunker. I will slip into "Memory Crowley" there.

"Memory Sam" had stooped down to scoop Dean into his arms. The sorrow on his face was wretched. Sam stepped toward him and Castiel placed his hands on both of their chests. As he pressed upon them a white glow of light streamed from his body. Castiel seemed to burn and radiate with the souls as though he would burst. They had not practiced this. The Sams began to fuse, then the light faded back, and one Sam remained.

"It worked." Sam croaked.

"Good." Castiel fell back against the wall and slumped down to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Sam reached out to him, but did not make much progress with Dean in his arms.

"Do not worry about me. I am fine. I just need to take a few moments to recover. I will see you again in the bunker." With that Castiel closed his eyes in concentration.

Sam turned back to Dean and lifted him. As he walked he spoke to him as Cas had directed. Cas had told him to tell Dean a story about them as brothers. To focus on a time when Dean felt safe, loved. Sam had worried that he did not have any stories like that, then he remembered. He spoke in a quiet voice feeling the weight of Dean in his arms. "When we were kids, do you remember that Christmas in Nebraska? It was then that I felt the most safe, so maybe you felt pretty safe too. I felt safe because I knew that I had a brother that would always look out for me. You told me about monsters, and the things that went bump in the night, but I wasn't scared because I had you. And after opening the presents I also had a new barbie, but hey, it was the thought." Sam chuckled with the memory of Dean's stolen Christmas tree and presents in the dingy hotel room. He looked down at Dean's impassive face and saw just a hint of a smile on his lips. It disappeared just as soon as he noticed it. Maybe it wasn't really there.

He branched out his story to include other times that held significance, the fireworks that burned down a whole field, the time that they went swimming in Booker's Creek, the time that dad sat with them on Bobby's couch arms stretched out smiling at them as they watched a game on the tv. That last memory reflected a rare memory of their father at ease, and Sam hoped that it would trigger something. Dean still seemed to sleep. "Come on Dean. It's time to leave the land of nod."

He reaches the bunker and places Dean in the bed. Castiel is there. "Any response?" Castiel asks as he approaches the bed on the other side of Sam.

"There were some responses. I think that he smiled." Sam tried to sound hopeful.

"I'll have to send you out now. I will need all of my strength to do this." Sam nodded and Castiel pressed both hands to Sam's chest. The light that glowed out from under his hands was like before, then Castiel's whole body was radiant.

Sam was gone, and the room was once again quiet and dark. He heard "Memory Crowley" at his back as he entered the room. Castiel brushed Dean's hand briefly with his own before turning to the form that he would take. "Memory Crowley" had just taken his seat and was about to speak. Castiel began to glow again with the deep blue white light and entered the seated form.

It was an odd sensation. He felt the possession and the false memories play out in his being. It was not quite like when he took Jimmy as his vessel. This felt tainted and corrupt. Perhaps it was the memories that Dean would have assumed for Crowley that were encroaching on him, or perhaps it was the act of being in such a surreal form of existence.

Regardless, he moved over to the bed and whispered words into Dean's ear. "_Graupha Van Med Ourh._" He held Dean's face in his hands then and said, "I saw many things when I looked into your soul. I saw brightness and light. I saw fear, and anger. But mostly I saw, faith, hope, and love. Despite all of your denials concerning faith it was there, and I felt it later in every one of your prayers. I saw your hope each time that you threw yourself on the pyre for Sam, for me, for the world. But the greatest thing that I saw in you, Dean, the greatest thing of all, was love." He lowered his head then, and kissed Dean lightly on the lips. It was a soft motion and quick in all of its slowness. He raised up from the kiss and said, "See what I see, Dean. Open your eyes."

Dean's eyes open, but they are black.

He had expected the black eyes of the demon, but he had hoped for the green eyes of his human. He even expected violence. What he did not expect was what actually happened. It was a mix of violence and desperation that lunged at him.

Dean's arms burst up from his chest and his hands wrapped around Castiel's throat. It did not seem like Dean intended to choke him. It seemed like that was just the easiest way to pull Castiel toward him. Dean seemed to strain against something inside of him. He arched up. His body seemed to seize up. Castiel held Dean's arms in a tight grip, pressing him back toward the bed. Dean released his neck and clutched the bedding at his sides. He thrashed and rose again in an arch, closing his eyes tight against the pain that seemed to roll through him in spasms.

Castiel leaned into him, "Dean!" He called to him, hoping to break through, feeling like he was getting to him. "See, Dean. See it all!"

Dean lurched up against Castiel, his face right in front of Castiel's. He opened his eyes, and Castiel saw the glow of green. It was a green that ignited hope in him. But then Dean spoke, "Stop trying to save me. You must stop. I'll destroy everything." The words were gritted out with such force that Castiel felt each word of sharp breath that puffed against his face.

Dean seized up again and lurched back against the bed. A dark fog began pouring from Dean's mouth. It did not shoot up to the sky in the typical exorcism path. Instead, it pooled around Dean's body, surrounding him in a frightening blanket of roiling anger and possession.

Castiel felt his body shoot back from Dean. He did not want to release him to that mass. He was pulled away. He felt the blue-white glow of light engulfing him, sucking him away from the fog that was drowning Dean. "Dean!" He fought to get away from the light, back to Dean. He could not see Dean's body anymore; he feared what seemed to be consuming him. The light pulled though, and in an instant the light became blindingly radiant, and he was sucked out of the room and away from Dean.

_Gunnison Island_

"I need to get back in now!" Castiel thrashed back into focus as Balthazar and Crowley pulled at his arms. "You don't understand! Let me go!" He twisted in their grasp pulling away with all of his strength. Balthazar fell back, but Crowley held tight.

"Calm down, little angel. We had to take you out." Castiel did not relax. He continued to struggle in Crowley's arms. "Calm down." This last was said with more force.

"I will not. Let me go. I have to save him. You don't understand. It was killing him." Castiel's desperation was pouring from him. He looked at Israfel and Sam then, pleading for help. "Make him let me go." He looked at Mary next. She stood back from the group, as if she were being held back.

Sam reached out to Castiel then, "Dean was having a seizure. We think that the connection was killing him."

Castiel stopped struggling then and Crowley relaxed his grip. "Can I let you go, or are you going to lose it again?" Crowley drawled.

"As soon as we started pulling you out, the seizure stopped. Dean seemed to be at peace again," Israfel finished Sam's explanation.

Crowley released Castiel then and the angel fell into a heap on the ground beside Dean. The effort of the dreamwalk was too much for him. The dramatic exit was equally taxing. "He spoke to me. I got through." The words breathed out with despair.

"What did he say," Israfel asked as she placed a hand on Castiel's back, administering small comforting strokes.

"He said, 'Stop trying to save me. You must stop. I'll destroy everything.'" Castiel looked up at her weary and lost. "Even after all of this time, he thinks that he is not worth saving. We have to save him."

"We will," she said as she looked back at him then over to Sam and Mary, "We will," she repeated.


	9. Chapter 7 (Part One)

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made. Genesis 2:1-2

* * *

_Earth_

The world pressed upon him. The darkness that surrounded him caressed him. He could feel everything with intensity. The fiery hurt where his wings once were drew the most attention from his mind. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the space around him.

He could see in the darkness. The space that he was in expanded around him. The impact that he had made when he had plummeted to earth shaped out a huge crater around him. He curled up into a ball of agony and gripped his legs tight to his chest. His form was pained beyond endurance. He felt that he must find something that could hold his form, an uninjured host. He needed it for the rest that it would provide.

A small emerald lizard skittered through the rocks that surrounded him. It scurried in and out of the cracks, cautiously peeking out and around as it moved. It moved with speed and grace, closer and closer. It was larger than most lizards and longer too.

It drew closer to Lucifer, careful still. Lucifer reached out his hand slowly, careful not to scare the creature. It stopped. He had to pull from a deep place to send out light from his form. He reached down past the darkness that he had curling around his grace and pulled. His fingers seemed to glow with warm white light. The lizard was drawn to it. _Do you welcome my light within you?_ He spoke to the creature, not with words.

It moved into his hand in response, nuzzling the warm fingers with its rough face. In an instant, Lucifer's form turned bright and engulfed the lizard in pure light. The two had become one. He looked out from the creatures eyes and felt the constrictions of the new form. It would do for now. He skittered up the side of the crater and out onto the flat plain above.

In the distance he saw the tree. As he had fallen, with what little control he had over his blazing wings, he had directed his path. Now he made his way, darting this way and that toward the tree. It was a long journey for a lizard. It would have been a short journey for a man.

He felt the tendrils of fog drifting out to him, gathering him in. _What has been done to you?_

He scurried up the trunk and into the leafy branches above. He did not respond as he coiled himself into the curve of a low lying branch, tucking his head into his side. The fog lay on him like a dark blanket before it sent out one more word to the nearly sleeping creature. _Rest._

* * *

_Gunnison Island_

Mary stood apart from the group. She couldn't engage with them in a way that felt real, so it was just easier to physically separate. It was a bit of a well earned rest for her. It was taking all of her effort to just function without completely giving in to insanity.

She lowered herself to the rough earth and tucked her legs in beneath her. There was a scruffy tree behind her, providing some shade from the intensity of the sun. She watched the group. From this distance it was easier to deal with them. The demon inside of her rolled and danced about more energetically when they were near her. She wondered how they did not see it in her. She wanted to call out to them, to tell them everything, but she was powerless.

Her eyes panned past the angels who seemed to be having one of their silent conversations. She could see it in their faces, but more importantly, she could see it in Sam's face. He was not as adept at mastering his expressions when he was hearing them. It reminded her of John. He was always so easy to read. She reminisced. She had never known anyone so well as she had known him.

As she looked away from the angels and her children, her eyes fell on the demon. He was staring at her with great intensity; as their eyes connected, he looked away. Crowley seemed to be feigning a casual air as he turned from her, but the intensity lingered. Why hadn't he seen what was in her? Or, maybe he did. She continued to stare at him, wondering. Surely a demon would be able to see something like this. Why did he remain silent?

There was something else too. Something niggling at her core. He was familiar. He was there in her head, and she couldn't get at the memory. She pushed at the barrier some more, but to no avail. All the while she stared at Crowley, still wondering. He turned back to her, and this time she had to feign casual indifference as she turned away.

She turned back casually just a few moments later to find him bridging the distance between them. He sauntered across the field and sat just a few feet from her. "Is this seat taken?"

"Do what you will." She tried to sound indifferent, but it came across as more of a lonely whisper.

"I could not help but notice that you are maintaining a bit of distance. It seems odd given your very recent return from Purgatory and given the presence of your children." Crowley did not stare directly at her as he spoke. He instead looked off into the distance at the angels and humans.

"Why are you even here?" She asked instead of responding to his statement. It felt safer, like a question that she could ask.

"That isn't what you really wanted to ask."

"Really, what did I want to ask?" She challenged him with a determined look that drew his attention to her face. She saw the look that he gave her and felt guilty, but she did not know why.

"Why are you here, Mary?" Crowley countered, staring at her with equal intensity.

"I don't know." It was all that she could say. She knew why she was here, somewhat, but she could not speak freely. The only speech that she was allowed was simple. Alastair stretched out inside of her, pressing out the path that she wanted to take. He had done so since she had said yes. First it was from the outside with thin tendrils of fog sliding into her mind, but as the entered the portal, it changed. He slammed into her body and fell through within her form. There was no retreat now. She wanted to tell them, all of them to stop, to listen to Dean's words, but she could only say _I don't know._

She felt dumb. She thought that she sounded simple to them and hoped that it was enough to cause them to be wary of her. Crowley just looked at her as she stumbled through her internal trauma. He said nothing for a time.

"I see it in you. I haven't said anything, because I don't think that you want them to know. It is an odd possession." He looked away from her then.

She wanted to scream at him then. _Tell them! Tell them, please just tell them._ She felt her insides buck and roll and grow. She could not speak. Her face was a mask of indifference. "Why are you here, Crowley?" Alastair allowed her to ask that question, because even he wanted to know.

He reached out to her and briefly touched her knee. "I have not always been the King of Hell. Even now, it is a title that I may only hold briefly." He looked to her then. She cocked her head to the side as if to ask what this had to do with anything. He continued, "I was a simple crossroad's demon and before that just a man. Not even a very impressive man at that. I have experienced much in my time both on earth and in Hell. Since becoming a demon, I have grown in my understanding of human beings." It was an odd statement and it caused Mary to smile a little.

"I have never loved anyone, nor has anyone ever loved me. Yet, I find the emotion curious. Seeing it play out in humans fascinates me. Humans do strange things for love. They set off great changes. They make calamitous choices, all in the name of love."

She and the demon inside of her stared at him with rapt attention. She wondered aloud, "So you are a demon that is entertained by love?"

"Not just love, but great love. Earth shaking, world making, big giant balls of crazy love." He smiled at her then and she saw sincerity or something like that on his face.

"So, why does that keep you here?" She extended her arms out to the vast expanse of the island, including the group just beyond them.

"That's a long story, but once upon a time I saw the beginnings of a love that would shake this world to its core. I decided that day, that I wanted to see it play out. So, I am here, doing just that."

"Are you always so vague?"

"No. But I rarely tell more than will serve me. I don't need you to know my reasons, and I certainly don't need your demon friend to know my reasons. So, you get just the tip of the iceberg, Mary. If it were just you, you might get the whole story." His face dropped a little and the pretense between them fell with his words.

Mary could feel Alastair inside her, stirring with some irritation. He seemed to be searching for her next words. He wanted to supply the conversation, but he did not know how to proceed without allowing Crowley the smug satisfaction of controlling the moment. She could feel him ease back then as if letting go.

"Well, thanks for wasting my time." She said with some derision as she stood to go. Crowley's forgotten hand slipped from her knee as she rose. He looked up at her face as she began to head back to the group, and for a moment recognition flickered at the corner of her mind. Alastair paused her there while she processed the long buried thought. The fire that consumed her, the hands that held her soul, the face that looked on her with such fierce intensity flared up in her mind. That face was here before her and that knowledge did not clear up anything. She did not know if Alastair was keeping it from her or if she just did not know the whole story, but either way, it was as Crowley had said. It was just the tip of the iceberg, and she would have to wait to learn the rest.

* * *

_Memories and Gunnison Island_

Castiel watched the conversation between Crowley and Mary with subtle interest. It looked like they were intensely engaged in whatever they were talking about. He wondered about it. They were too far away for him to pick up on their words, and the winds that were blowing about now were adding to the noises that filtered through the air.

He and Sam were preparing to enter the second of Dean's memories. They were planning a different approach this time. They decided that Dean needed to actively engage in a mission of salvation. All of his memories seemed to involve his utter defeat, or abject failure. Perhaps, victory would lead to hope. It seemed as though Dean's lack of hope was keeping him from fighting his way out of the long sleep.

Mary made her way back over to the group, but not quite into the inner circle. She sat down just a little behind Sam's back. She was silent as she sat. Not long after, Crowley joined the group, sitting just behind Castiel. There was something that he wasn't seeing. He hoped that it would become clear soon.

Balthazar sat just above Dean's head, and Israfel was at his feet. "I am going to create a bond between the three of you during this dreamwalk. It is temporary, but it might give you some added control while you are in there." Balthazar placed his hands on Dean's head and nodded to Castiel and Sam in turn.

Castiel turned to Crowley, "Don't pull me out this time."

"Right, if Dean looks like he is dying, I'll just let the little bugger go. No worries." Crowley smirked at Castiel.

_Watch him. _Castiel sent the thought to Israfel. _And her, _he added. Israfel nodded imperceptibly, to the others, but Castiel saw it. He raised his hands over Dean toward Sam. Sam reached out and the two of them kept their palms hovering over Dean's chest as Balthazar's muttered words growled over them.

When Balthazar looked up, Castiel saw the acknowledgement that he was done, so he proceeded to send out a tentative pulse of his grace to Dean and Sam. Without the souls powering him further, he would not have been as capable of carrying Sam into the dream with him, but with the souls it was doable. The last memory would be much more difficult. He wondered if Crowley would prove helpful. He pushed the worry aside for now. Too distracting…focus.

He and Sam stood near a chain link fence, staring out at the large pond. It was a municipal water supply, or so the sign said. They waited for the figures to join the scene. It was only moments later that "Memory Castiel" emerged from the trees, making his way toward the water. The figure was a mess of blood and gore. His stained trenchcoat splattered in blood and other vile substances hung askew off of his shoulder. His hair was flattened back with blood, while his eyes seemed to barely open past the sticky substances that caked his face.

Sam quickly stepped into "Memory Castiel's" personal space and Castiel pressed him in. It might have seemed more natural for Castiel to have taken on his own form, but it would not work for him to take a form before Sam. He did not know if he could easily press Sam into place from within a borrowed form.

"I'm in, and ugg. Thanks for the gross body." Sam's words coming out of his form, were odd to say the least.

"The look of the body was not a concern when we formed the plan." Castiel turned and waited for the next forms to emerge from the trees. Something about the trees tickled at Castiel's mind. There was something more this time through the memory, but it was not clear what that something was.

Then he could not think of it further as "Memory Bobby," "Memory Sam," and Dean burst through the trees toward Sam in his new form. Sam made a great show of walking into the water with slow, methodical steps. The three men stood there seeming to freeze with inaction. Castiel stepped over to "Memory Sam and pressed into his form.

Having taken over the body, Castiel immediately spoke to Dean, "Do something, Dean. You have to stop him."

Dean seemed shocked by the encouragement as if the change to the usual script was not quite processing. "What should I do? I can't stop him, not with all of the Leviathans." He sounded helpless.

Castiel persisted, "You just have to get to Cas. Make him remember. I think that he is still in there."

"No, you heard them. They killed him."

"Demons lie." Then Castiel had a funny memory and went with it. "Go get him, tiger." He smiled then.

All the while, Sam was making his way slowly into the water, stretching his arms out wide at his sides before turning back to the shore to face them.

"Uh, sure Sam." Dean looked at Castiel in "Memory Sam" with skepticism written plainly on his face.

Castiel couldn't help it, but he kept smiling and then added, "Don't make me push you." This last may have gone too far.

Dean stared hard at Castiel, boring into him as though trying to really see into him. "Sam?" He questioned in a low whisper.

"What are you two going on about? I think that we need to get out of here." "Memory Bobby" motioned toward Sam in the water, "I don't like the looks of this."

Dean broke his gaze with Castiel and looked out to the water as Sam turned toward him. Sam adopted the most sad puppy dog eyes he could. It would be hard to get the look right with all of the gore plastered on his face, but he was making the greatest possible effort.

Dean moved toward the water then. "Memory Bobby" reached out and grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

"I have to try, Bobby. He would do it for me." With that Dean plowed into the water toward what he saw as Castiel. Sam turned away again and started to dip down into the water. "Cas!" Dean called out to him. "Cas, you dumb son of a bitch!" Dean kept plowing ahead toward him.

Dean reached him and grabbed his arms. "Just let me go, Dean. You can't save me." Sam was really ladling it on thick. They hadn't thought about how it would end, or how Dean might choose to save Castiel. They certainly hadn't planned for Dean's next move.

Dean reached up to Sam's face then and kissed him. Sam froze up and tried to step back. Dean broke the kiss and said, "Cas, come back to me, you dumb son of a bitch. Fight this. I need you."

Castiel was as shocked as Sam. Bobby muttered, "Now that wouldn't have been my first move." Castiel threw him a sideways glance before marching out into the water toward them.

Dean continued to hold Sam's face firmly in his hands. When Castiel reached them he caught hold of Dean's arm. When he touched him, Dean jumped away from Sam, releasing him. He turned to Castiel and seemed to see him, the real him. "He's here. Don't let him out." His look of desperation snapped back and forth. Then the trees began to sway unnaturally. Loud crackling rocketed from the depths of the darkness, then, in an instant, the trees burst into a wall of black fog.

The fog shot out toward the water, engulfing "Memory Bobby" on its way. He let out a short strangled cry before he disappeared. Then the fog slowed its movements to a creep across the water.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled and tried to slog toward the shore.

"No, Dean!" Sam grabbed Dean, and tried to keep him back. "It isn't real."

"You are wrong. It is very real."

Castiel moved between them and the fog, and turned his back purposefully against the coming wave of darkness. "Come with us. Just wake up, Dean."

"You have to leave me!" With that he threw his hands against their heads as though he had the power of the angels and that they were demons to be vanquished.

Castiel felt the fog fold over them just as Dean's hands propelled them from his mind and back to the island.

"Damn it!" Sam slammed his hands into the ground.

Castiel stared at him. "He spoke with us. What more did you want?"

"I want it to be over. I want him to come back." Sam struggled with the moment. Israfel moved to him and pressed her hand to his back, applying calming, circular strokes.

"We are close. He acted out with his free will. He wasn't blindly following the path of the memory. He made choices that were his own. This was a victory." Castiel looked pleased. Then he looked over at Mary and saw her smile. She was not looking at him. She was looking at Dean, and she was smiling. It was large and toothy. It was not Mary's smile despite the fact that it was her face doing the work. It was a smile so strained that it seemed unnatural for a human, wooden even. She turned to him then, seeming to sense his eyes upon her. The smile slipped away and was replaced by a flat expression of indifference. The change was abrupt and disconcerting.

Castiel rested his hand on Dean protectively. "We will win. We won't lose him." He directed the last words toward Mary, "I won't lose him." He stopped then and looked down at Dean. "We will enter the last memory tomorrow. For now, we should all get some rest." Since angels do not really need sleep, this seemed more like a directive for Sam and Mary, but everyone seemed to peel themselves away from the tight circle surrounding Dean, everyone except for Castiel. He did not wish to rest.


	10. Chapter 7 (Part Two)

And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made. Genesis 2:3

* * *

_Gunnison Island_

Sam felt the blessing of sleep and pleasant dreams slowly sucking away. Something was drawing him back to consciousness. He fought it, but slowly he opened his eyes.

"Hello, Moose. All rested up?" Crowley's face was hovering just over his face. He was crouched down on his haunches.

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam slowly sat up, reaching around as he did so to rub at his back. The ground was not the most comfortable place for sleep, but usually Israfel helped with that.

Crowley looked over to where Castiel was; he was still with Dean. He turned back to Sam. "Just a word."

"I'm listening. Make it quick." Sam's eyes darted about, seeking out Israfel and the others.

Crowley reached out a hand to help Sam to his feet. "Not here. Walk with me."

Sam ignored his hand and lifted his long mass of limbs slowly up from the ground. "Fine." He walked with Crowley away from the makeshift camp.

When they had gotten far enough away, Crowley spoke again, "I haven't been very forthright with you all, Moose." He looked at Sam's face as they continued to walk. "Truth is, it has been difficult. You have always been my favorite Winchester...or maybe my second favorite."

"Dean often takes that role." Sam smirked.

"Not Dean." Crowley's response was quiet.

Sam looked at him now, confusion plain on his face. "What are you telling me."

"A story." The stopped walking when they reached the shore. The sunlight danced blindingly up off of the little waves of water. Sam shielded his eyes while they adjusted to the fierce light. Crowley continued, "I saw her once a long time ago. It was before I was much of anything. She was just light in a vial wrapped in little wisps of black fog. She was in Alastair's chamber, tucked into a throne made of roots. I should not have been there, but I was looking for distraction and often found such diversions when I visited Alastair."

The two of them sat down then on the beach, "I did not think about what I was doing, but it did not seem to be much. I pulled out the vial from the throne and held it. It spoke to me. _Let me go. Please, just let me go. As each one of them is born, I feel it tear at me. Show mercy. _I am not easily moved, but she was in an agony that I had not heard before. I felt it even through the vial, deep into my essence. Mind you I have experienced much in this place, and below the veil. Her suffering was deep.

"I don't understand why you are telling me this." Sam interrupted.

"Patience." Crowley held up his hand and continued, "I carried her out of Hell on a necklace hung around my neck. I wore her there for years, thinking about what I should do with her. She showed me things from her memory. It was not typical for souls to have this power, but she did. I knew that she must be old then. I also came to know who she was."

"Who was she?" Sam shifted a little.

"She was Eve, the mother of all," Crowley said. "The real question you should be asking now is, how does this all connect back to you?"

Crowley looked at Sam as if he truly expected him to ask exactly that question, "Okay, I'll bite. What does this have to do with us?" Sam finally asked.

"Your mother's presence in Purgatory was no accident."

"Cas said that he had seen her in Heaven. He was surprised to find her elsewhere," Sam supplied, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them.

"Yes, he did see her there. She is still there too, a little." Now Crowley shifted and looked out to the water. The pelicans dipped and swooped ahead of them, making their noises, filling the temporary silence.

"Then who is the woman here?" Sam turned a little toward the direction of their camp.

"She is your mother too, a little." He seemed to feel uncomfortable with his explanation, but he continued anyway, "I continued doing as I had always done, only now, there was this weight on my chest. I felt things. I was drawn to things that had repulsed me before."

"Like what?"

"Love, for one." He tensed up and seemed to be embarrassed by his admission. "She loved greatly. Even in the midst of all of her agony, she loved. It was the reason that I couldn't just release her. She gave that to me. If I released her, I feared that it would all be gone. Selfish, I know, but Hell, I am a demon after all." He smirked over at Sam.

"That isn't love then." Sam said quietly.

"Don't lecture me about love. Do you think that every time you and Dean die that it isn't a little selfish?" He paused for a moment before adopting the mocking tone of a child, "Only I can save the world. I don't want to live in a world without you in it. I just can't quit you…"

"Now you are just being ridiculous. Stop quoting movies and calling it our life." Sam stood up to leave.

Crowley reached up and pulled him back down. "I'm sorry. It is frustrating. I didn't want to lose her. Maybe it wasn't love for me. Maybe it was an obsession, a type of possession. I knew though that it was taking over me, and I had to let it go. I had to be free. I also wanted her to be free to. Maybe that is when it became something more."

Crowley stood then and began pacing along the beach. Sam stood too. "What did you do?"

"I released her...sort of ." He stopped pacing, but did not turn to Sam.

"What did you do?" Sam stared at his back worried over the answer, knowing that it could not be good.

"I added her to a form that already had a soul. You see, I couldn't just uncork the bottle and watch it soar away. I had to keep it just a little longer, but I needed a little distance too. It was too controlling. You must believe me when I tell you that I never thought that it would be like this, that it would lead to this."

"Where did you put it?" Sam felt fear grip him tight then. He knew the answer, but he had to hear the words. Crowley had to say it.

"Her name was Mary Winchester." Crowley turned back to Sam with a look that was awash with regret. "Mary is Eve. She is the mother of all."


	11. Chapter 7 (Part Three)

And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. And the Lord God planted a garden eastward of Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed. Genesis 2:7-8

* * *

_Dean Dreams of Hell_

He leaned into the form that writhed and squirmed on the rack. He breathed in their fear and breathed out contentment. He was capable of so much since he took up the knife. Alastair even said so. He slivered off skin and muscle and more. He dipped deep into the creature's hand and extracted just the bones that were at the tops of the fingers.

The songs of their screams rang out throughout the halls. Dean sometimes sang along. They screamed, and he echoed them back. It was a game of "no one will ever save you." He looked at the lips on this one and decided not to cut them...too much. He reached back to the long table and selected a small grimy jar. In it were dry white writhing masses of white, Bot Fly Larvae. They would burrow and eat their way through the form. He made a small slit at the edge of the bottom lip and with a pair of long ended tweezers, Dean plucked out a larvae to insert into the slit.

The creature slammed her head back and forth frantically. He reached behind her head and slid the engraved leather strap up over her forehead. It seemed to hold her in place. She began sucking in her lip as if to protect her mouth from the invasion that she surely saw coming. He waited for her to become calm.

He did not talk to them like Alastair did. He did not try to calm them or fake a friendship that did not, could not exist. The scream songs were his only exception, and he only succumbed to that tactic when he was truly bored. Mostly, he worked in silence. If information needed to be extracted, he did it in silence while Alastair or another demon listened. He was not sure why this one was brought in. Her lips relaxed a little. She spoke again. "Please let me go." Predictable. They always begged. It all sounded the same. "I shouldn't be here." Also, predictable. He slipped the larvae into the slit in her lip and stepped back.

She was weeping. The sounds of the weeping pulled at Dean a little, but just a little. It felt familiar in a way that the other cries and pleas in this place did not. He pulled out another larvae to add to the lip.

She quivered beneath his hand as he brought it close, but she did not fight him. This too, was odd and pulled at him again. He inserted it, and went back to the jar for a third. He grasped the larvae in his tweezers and lifted it before her face, giving her a good long look at the creature. Then he pressed it into her lip and sat back on a high stool, surveying his handy work. The roll of flesh squirmed with the tightness that the larvae created.

She spoke again, "I hear the angels singing." This time Dean was surprised. Then a form appeared at his back.

"I will take over from here." Alastair stirred over to his side, moving Dean along with a gentle brush of his arm. He could see Alastair reaching into the woman's form to extract her soul. What he removed was small. It fit snuggly in the palm of his hand. The glow was faint as it spun about in his fingers, threatening to spill over with each movement of his hand. Alastair stirred then and seemed to be listening to something in the room. He slid the soul back into her body, and a slight smile curled up at the edges of his lips.

Dean thought that this was odd too. Alastair always kept a little for himself. He seemed to be preparing to leave, when he turned to Dean. "Why don't you step out for a bit. Get some rest. I will be along in a minute."

"Would you like me to move her back to the other room?" Dean asked.

"No, I will leave her in here for tonight." Alastair walked out the door with a knowing smile still on his face. "Good night little mother." He threw back into the room.

Dean did not understand, but at least there would be rest.

* * *

_Scotland_

In the beginning, there was darkness, and in that darkness there was potential. A story formed in the mind of God, a story of life, and love, and pain. It was a great tale that should be told, lived. So the darkness took on light, life, and a beginning.

Fergus began in much the same way. A vain creature by all accounts, consumed by his own desires, darkness. His mother hated him, his wife hated him, and with every action that he committed to in his pathetic human life, he made his kid hate him too.

He was a man that learned the value of a good story. You need a good story to get through the darkness. When he would wake after his long nights of drinking, the sights that would greet him required storytelling. He had to tell a story to explain the bruises on his child's face. He had to tell a story to shave away the guilt he felt when he saw his child crumpled in the corner starving because his father was more concerned with obtaining liquid sustenance.

When he met with the demon, it was not as surprising to him as it would have been to other humans. He knew this kind of darkness already, had grown comfortable with it churning about in his gut. Of course he did not know that he was a demon from the beginning. In the beginning, the demon was a man, a charming man with dusty blond hair and a slight British accent.

The demon sat next to him at the pub and even bought him a drink. Fergus told the demon some stories. Complete fabrications about his life, lack of a wife, freedom. The night was pleasant. He did not think about home, or the stories that he would have to tell himself once he returned to it.

Each night, for a week, Fergus returned to that pub. Gradually, the stories changed. Gradually, they took on notes from his real life, and Fergus did not even realize the change to the stories until they had completely stopped being fabrications. He had a wife, a child, and no prospects for freedom.

The demon spoke to him in hushed tones. Comforting him much as the days progressed. It felt like more than a week had passed in that span of time. Perhaps, it was longer. It is hard to say what really happened now. So much time had passed since Crowley had allowed himself to look at those days. It was not pleasant to look at Fergus and be reminded of what he had been.

It was on the seventh day of their acquaintance that he had learned of the demon's story. He had left the pub to return home, but that night he did not walk alone. The demon walked with him. There was no reason for it beyond companionship.

When they had neared the door of his tiny hovel, it flew open. His wife had shot out of it with all of the force of her minuscule frame. She had nearly knocked him over with the force of her. She threw her arms against him, beating him savagely. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" She screamed at him. The beating had begun to sober him up. He tried to grab her arms to hold her back. The demon stood off to the side taking it in. "He's dead, dead, dead." She wailed and crumpled to the ground.

He stood still staring down at her. Then, he looked into the open door and saw his son on the bed. He had been on the bed for the past week. However, this time he was not asleep. What had he missed when he came home each night, too drunk to really see. He stumbled past his wife and forced himself into the house, toward the bed.

He looked down at the child. "Lucky bastard," he muttered. The demon joined him. Despite the words, Fergus slumped down to the mattress and pressed his hand to the child's cheek.

"You don't really mean that." The demon said almost as a question.

"No, I don't. He was never lucky. I was his father." Fergus looked only at the child as he spoke. "I would give anything if he could have just a little luck now."

"Humans." The demon muttered as he looked up at Fergus' face, drawing his attention from the child. "They never see what matters until it is too late."

"Nothing matters. It has always been too late." Fergus stood then. He had wanted to leave, but he had no where to go.

"I could give him a little luck, but it will cost you." Fergus looked at the demon and saw his eyes shift to black. He fell back onto the ground. He did not move from there though. "You just have to say the word, and I can give him luck." The demon, then, stooped down to the floor and looked into Fergus' face.

Fergus had trouble forming the words and spoke with hesitation. "What do I need to do?"

And if there had been any doubt before about what Fergus would do next the demon's words had sealed the deal, for although, Fergus wanted to give his child luck, he was still a selfish creature. "You will have to give up your soul. Normally, I would give you ten years, but that can't happen here. You are trading for a life that has already passed on. That is a lot of luck."

"How long do I have to live after the deal is made?" Fergus asked.

The demon seemed to understand what was really being asked, "You may leave immediately if that is your wish."

"It wouldn't be luck if I stayed." He paused for a moment, then got up off of the floor. He moved back to the bed, to the child. "Goodbye," he said, then added, "Good luck." He had turned to the demon then and said, "I am ready, and I agree to your terms."

The demon had leaned in then and pressed his lips to Fergus'. The deal was made. Then, Fergus fell back from the kiss in a dead heap on the mattress beside his son. His face looked peaceful for the first time in years. It looked like a man at rest.

* * *

_Gunnison Island_

There were three times that Crowley said that he had approached Mary before he saw her again in Purgatory. This did not mean that he really kept his distance. He watched her, but he did not let her know that he was there except on those three very important occasions.

The first time was when he made the decision to give her a little extra soul. The second time was just after Azazel had burned her into the ceiling. The third was when he raised her from Perdition.

He began telling his story. In parts anyway. He would tell the rest before the day was out, and not to any one of them entirely. He gave the tale of her inception to Sam, the tale of the fire would go to Mary later, and the tale of Perdition had been told to Balthazar already, since the latter knew most of it first hand. He did not have a story for Castiel or Israfel. Castiel would be too preoccupied with Dean to hear it anyway. Israfel could glean what was needed from Sam's mind.

Everything seemed to be falling into place. He settled a hand on Sam's shoulder, watching his face as he struggled to take it all in. His mother, Eve, all of it, seemed to be overloading him. "They both loved you, Sam."

"What do you mean?" He looked up at Crowley.

"Your mother and Eve. The first time that Mary had entered the nursery, she wept. Eve was conscious then too. Mary scooped you up, fed you at her breast, but it was Eve that said, 'my boy, my boy, my boy.'" Crowley stepped back from Sam and turned out to the lake again. "I watched her often from the shadows. She seemed to lose the agony and the pain. I was grateful. I wanted her to know peace."

"Of all of the women in the world that you could have chosen, you chose a woman with a demon deal." Sam huffed.

"It was the taint of Azazel that drew me to her. I knew that she did not sell her soul, but the connection to him would, I thought, make her more accessible. She had already let him in a little. I could not have known how that night in the nursery would have played out."

"Why did you keep watching her? I thought that you needed distance."

"I thought that I did too. However, I just couldn't stop myself. She changed me. I wanted to watch her with you and Dean. I wanted to watch her live. So I did. There was much that I wanted."

Sam squirmed uncomfortably at the last statement. "Where was my dad in all of this? Didn't he notice a difference?"

"There was nothing to notice. Eve rested, mostly. She only stirred when Mary interacted with you and Dean. I think that Mary saw this as the deal that she had made before. She seemed to be content with it. She ran the day to day actions and accepted the little extra consciousness that surfaced from time to time. That scruffy faced man had no clue." He seemed to smirk at the memory of John.

"Did you watch dad too?"

"Only because Mary loved him." Crowley shifted about. "I suppose that he changed me too."

"How so?"

"I picked my meatsuit because I felt that it looked a bit like him. I thought that it would appeal to Mary and thus Eve more if I took on a somewhat familiar form."

"So what will happen now? Why is she here?" Sam asked.

"I believe that Alastair plans to use her. How, remains to be seen." He paused then continued, "But I also believe that he has underestimated her. He has underestimated love. The very love that has so entertained me for years. She is fighting him, and I believe that she can win. I believe that there is enough love left in her for that."


	12. Chapter 7 (Part Four)

And out of the ground made the LORD God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Genesis 2:9

* * *

_Gunnison Island_

Balthazar had not spoken much to any of the others. It was ironic that his last meaningful conversation had been with Crowley. He did not need to turn to know that the demon was approaching him again now. He could feel the intensity of the demon writhing about in his meatsuit along with all of the souls that had been dragged up from Hell.

He reached out a hand to the log and gave it a little pat beside him, beckoning Crowley with a nod. "So, it begins then. You know this won't end well?"

Crowley took a seat beside the angel. "It will be what it will be." He seemed to lack his usual charisma.

"It seems to me that we are at a bit of a crossroads. We could choose to go down fighting, or we could choose to flee." Balthazar had already made his decision though, and seemed to only be testing the waters with Crowley.

"I have done the fleeing thing before. I think that this time I prefer to fight." Crowley looked at Bathazar and asked, "Second thoughts?"

"And third and fourth thoughts...but no. I am with this to the end. We have both put on a good show for the kiddies. I can't believe how little they know." He rubbed his hands together and added, "I left for a bit today. Took a little flight."

"Where did you go?"

"Everywhere. I just wanted to see it all one more time-remind myself what all of this dying is for. Humans, they have no clue. _Do any human beings ever realize while they live it?-every, every minute."_

"Thornton Wilder fan, huh? And no, they don't. How could they? They are blips of light in a dark universe. They burn bright and then they are gone. The fact that we take the time to notice any of them shows just how bright some of them are." Crowley smiles then. "These ones are bright, but I'll smite you if you ever repeat that."

"I'd like to see you try." Balthazar smiles back. "I visited the hotel, where Gabriel died. I think that he would have appreciated this fight."

"Gabriel or Loki?" Crowley asked with a smirk as he reminded Balthazar of Gabriel's dual nature.

"Both." He smiled with the memory of his brother. "We are a lot like them, those Norse gods. It was said that they would one day fight and give their all, knowing that in the end they would lose. I think that I appreciate those stories a little more now."

"I think that you got it a little wrong. It was never that they lost in the end. For them it was all about the sacrifice. In the end of their story they were doomed to die, but they fought anyway. They fought, and they died, but they did not lose." Crowley reached out to Balthazar's shoulder with a pat. "I think that the distinction matters in their case and in ours."

"I feel guilty. It seems wrong that they don't know."

"They know enough. Maybe we should be happy for them. Knowledge, in this case is pain." Crowley got up to go. "I feel the bond that you made for us. It is good. Thank you Balthazar, for everything."

He just nodded up at Crowley. "Will you talk with Mary now?"

"I will. Hopefully, it works." Crowley turns and starts walking away. "For what it is worth, I wish that it didn't have to be this way."

"Me too."

* * *

_Gunnison Island_

Mary sat alone under the same scruffy tree that she had sat under the day before. Today was the day. They were going to enter Dean's third memory, and unleash a very real apocalypse. Alastair was keeping her nearly immobile and the others were too preoccupied to notice her. _See it, see it all, please._ She hoped that if her mind screamed it out enough, that they might just pick up on it.

Crowley joined her then, as if he had heard her, or at least sensed her need for company. "Decided to join the kiddie table?" She quipped.

"Seemed like a good place to be." He placed his hand on her knee again, like he did during their last conversation. He looked deep into her face and said, "I have a story for you if you would like to hear it."

"Do I look that bored?" She rolled her eyes at him, but she did not get up to leave.

"I promise to keep it interesting. Besides, everyone knows the power of a good story. I use to tell myself all sorts of things when I was a human. I became quite good at convincing myself that the world was a certain way when in fact it was quite the opposite. A good story is often better than the truth, and if one is a good enough storyteller, then one can live in a pretty world of fiction just fine." Crowley drawled on, but Mary was transfixed by the sing-song melody of his voice. Alastair seemed to be intrigued by the concept.

He moved his hand up slowly to her face. She did not move. "I knew a woman once. She was beautiful. She was a mother, a wife, a creature of great importance. She was mine, and I loved her. I searched the world for a place to shield her. I found her a good home, a woman that was strong. She was a worthy vessel for such a creature. I grew to love her too."

His fingers fell to stroking her cheeks, brushing back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. "I even loved her children. I found ways to be near each of them. As the years passed, I interceded, gave them close calls where there should have been deaths." He moved one hand from her face down to his side, but Mary could not care. There was just the story.

"Then, one night, I lost it all. A demon took her. I was not there to protect her, and I failed her. I have never been lucky before. I should have known that nothing good would last." He raised the hand at his side up against her upper arm, but he did not clasp it.

"That night, though, I found a little luck. I stood in the charred remains of that house and I saw it. It glowed. I would know that soul anywhere. I gathered it up into my hands. It was just a small part of the soul. A little sliver. I discovered later that you had chosen to linger for a time, as a spirit, before you went to heaven. Maybe it was good that I didn't know about that part of you, because I likely would have tried to hold that part of you too. Like I've had to say before, I can be a selfish prick."

Mary smiled. She smiled, not by compulsion. She controlled it. She chose not to dwell in that moment. She focused on the story instead. Crowley seemed to notice, but he continued speaking. "I carried you with me to the only place that I could think of. I carried you to Hell."

She sucked in a silent gasp, because she remembered. _No, she had to stay with the story. Stay with the story._

"I thought that if I kept you close, that you would be safe. I thought that I could find you another vessel, eventually. I made a tactical error, though. You were taken from me. I was tortured, but I was still clinging to hope." Mary could feel Alastair take over her smile. It was uncomfortable. She tried to fight it, to no avail.

"Of course, at the time, I did not realize that it was all a part of a plan. I was a tool, and I was being used." Mary felt the smile begin to drop. "It does not matter now. I found you. I found you on the rack, and I pulled you up. I had to leave you in Purgatory, but I knew that you were tough, a fighter. And most importantly, I knew that I would find you again."

"How?" Mary was able to ask. Alastair was not controlling her for the moment.

His hand came up to her chest and pressed. "Love," he said as he shoved the sliver of soul into her body. She fell back and shook with the pain of it. Crowley held her up though and continued to move the soul about in her chest. She arched upward against him seizing up with each of his movements. "When the time comes, Mary, you will need to focus on this. You can feel it. The pain of it. Focus on it. Feel it. That is a pure part of your soul. It has been in Heaven. It is not tainted by Alastair. It will help you save them."

"I won't save them, Crowley. I am the destroyer of worlds. You need to kill me." She seized up into him again.

"Balthazar has made a bond with us. I will do what I can to help you. Do what you can to suppress him." With that he removed his hand from her chest and felt her slump into unconsciousness. He gathered her body up into his arms and carried her resting form over to the camp, hoping that the love in her soul would be enough.


	13. Chapter 7 (Part Five)

And the Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it. Genesis 2:15

* * *

_Dean Dreams of Cicero_

Castiel had not told Sam everything. There had been more than three important moments, many more. He had spent the last nights working his way through them all. When he first entered Dean's mind, he felt that the three moments of peace were the most essential. He felt that the peace needed to be cherished and cultivated, but really the peace was keeping him from the surface. Dean was too much at peace, so the dock, the park, and being with the happy family was all just keeping him complacent. The dreams that seemed to jar his form, to nearly awaken him with all of their energy were the dreams of fighting and suffering. They were not peaceful and, at first, Castiel avoided them. He did not want Dean to suffer even in memories. In the end, though, there was always one memory that would be the focus. So, he did not tell Sam all of the details. It would be unnecessary. There would be time enough to tell him more later, maybe.

For now, he had to prepare for what he hoped would be the last trek into the false memories of Dean. He felt Crowley settling in and hoped that he had not misplaced his faith in this creature. It helped that Balthazar and Israfel were there. Sam sat near Israfel and gave him a look of encouragement.

"I will extend the bond temporarily to Crowley. This will give you more control once you are in there. If the souls prove to be too much, we will have to pull you out." Balthazar explained.

"Don't." Castiel spoke quickly and with force. "If this doesn't work, you might as well leave me in there."

"Boys, we are wasting time. We don't need to discuss that. Let's just get this over with." Crowley placed one hand on Castiel and the other on Dean. Balthazar began murmuring in Enochian. A slight glow emanated from his form as he looked over to Crowley and then Castiel.

Castiel closed his eyes and felt the shift into Dean's dreams of Cicero. He surveyed the scene again and saw that it was not so changed. The woods were dark and deep. Darker than the first visit, but not much worse than his more recent visits. Dean was still there methodically raking the leaves.

This time, though, he could feel the ties to Crowley and Balthazar hovering in his core. There was something else too-some small presence lightly brushing at the fringes of his essence. He shook off the worry and made his way over to Dean. In all of the other memories, Castiel seemed to pull Dean out with just a touch. This time though, there were no other creatures to inhabit. Hopefully, the souls would be able to bridge the gap. Hopefully, it would be enough.

He tentatively reached out his hand and touched Dean's arm, where he had gripped him before when he pulled him up from Hell. He felt something stir. Dean's movements slowed as if he was freezing in place. The world around them seemed to still too. Castiel looked around them. The woods loomed in the growing darkness. Although Dean seemed to be slowing in his movements, time seemed to have sped up, to the point that night was taking over. Then he saw it gathering in the dark.

"Alastair." Castiel spat out. He had expected him to show again, but it did not lessen his irritation. Castiel believed that all that he needed to do was convince Dean to strike out against Alastair. He felt that this memory was the key. It was the mother of all of his fears and the beginning of his decline. So, of course Alastair was here. He tortured Dean into this state. Of course, there was family here in need of protection. And of course, Dean was out here where the danger was greatest, because he was afraid of what it would do the ones he loved on the inside. But Dean did not move. He was frozen at Castiel's back. The rake was no longer in his hand, but he still stood as though he intended to continue raking the leaves just as soon as his mobility returned.

"So, you came back to me." Alastair swirled into a more tangible form near Castiel.

"I came back for him." Castiel stepped more fully in front of Dean, shielding him from Alastair. He concentrated on the souls that he hoped would give him strength and expanded his size to something roughly the size of the Statue of of Liberty. "I am ready to face you, if that is what must be done to save him."

Alastair expanded in fog and in form. His body equaling Castiel's in size, but with an added layer of swirling dark tendrils flowing around his form. "You are so myopic, angel, but I am not one to shy away from a good fight."

Castiel dodged as the first lancing fog blade shot toward him. Apparently, Alastair could fashion his own weapons on the fly. The next moment found him grazed on his upper arm by the fog blade. It was slight, but painful. He could feel the pinch of grace itching out of the wound. He also felt the twitch at his back and looked at Dean. Dean's arm was bleeding in a steady trickle in the same spot as Castiel had been injured.

"So, he is going to feel everything that you are feeling. Don't you want to spare him this suffering? Maybe you should just leave now." Alastair's nasally voice mocked Castiel. He could not contain the rage that was stirring within him. He flew at Alastair then, feeling him turn into a fog that he passed through.

He slipped the angel blade into his hand. It too had grown in size. It gleamed within the darkness of the place. Castiel raised it up. "Once I was the Angel of Saturday. It was a long time ago. Then I became to the Angel of Thursday. I am always being changed by my father."

"What do I care of your past?" Alastair sprang at Castiel and wrapped around him in fog and form, knocking the angel back to the ground. Castiel could see Dean moving again. Slow methodical movements; however, the movements were carrying him away from the fight.

"You should care about my story," Castiel said as he struggled against the ever tightening hold. He still held the angel blade immobile at his hip. "I was a watcher first, an observer of mankind, but later I became their defender. Dean said that I was a hammer. I didn't know then that it could be a good thing." He felt Alastair's distraction with his words. Words did that. _In the beginning was the word, and the word was God._

"It is too late, you know." Alastair smiled knowingly. "They will all die today."

"If we die, we die. At least, we will go down fighting and we will not lose." Castiel found the strength to break his arm free from the hold. He drove the blade upward into the form, feeling it catch a little. He fell back as Alastair released him, but before he could charge back at him, Castiel saw Alastair flail at Dean's form.

"Let's start the end here." Alastair's fog slammed into Dean's chest. He was propelled back to the ground.

Castiel rushed on Alastair, but he disappeared before he could make contact. There was nothing left in the memory landscape except for Dean and Castiel. Dean's chest was bleeding out. Castiel could see his soul glowing bright in the dying form. Castiel tried to heal him, but Dean's body arched up in agony beneath his fingers. "Don't die here." He whispered. "Not after all of this. Don't, just don't."

Dean's eyes opened a little. "You have to leave. Stop trying to save me."

"I can't do that." Castiel's hands fell to stroking Dean's hair back from his face. "Come back to us."

Dean's body seized up again and Castiel felt the tension course up into his form too. Then there was something more. A sharp blast of fog came up from beneath them and propelled him out of Dean's mind and back to the island.

"No!" He could hear Sam's yell as Mary threw herself onto Dean's body. As her hands made contact with him, the waters around the island turned to black. The skies above them filled with fog, the angels fell like stars, and the world began to fall back into chaos.


	14. Chapter 7 (Part Six)

And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil. And when the woman saw that the tree _was_ good for food, and that it _was_ pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make _one_ wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. Genesis 3:4-6

* * *

_Eden_

The tree swayed gently in the breeze. Its branches large and dark and glorious in the evening light. Lucifer scurried down the trunk to the tall grasses below and took in the morning sunlight on his scaled back. It was going to be a warm day. He smiled a reptilian smile with a mouth that could not truly convey that sort of contentment.

The tree was changing. They did not speak as they once did, but Lucifer was determined to fix that. For now they communicated in a more tactile way. There were other changes too, though. The tree's branches had created something new and inviting. Large, luscious, juicy fruits practically dripped from the branches. The smell was intoxicating. Lucifer darted back to the trunk and slinked around over and through the crags and pits of the tree back to the upper branches. He looked out over the distance and wondered at the future.

They were largely untroubled by humans in this area, for although they sat at the site of the first spark of life, mankind had moved on from this place of birth. During his revery he felt the tendrils of fog snake out to him to slip along his sun-baked scales. He wondered if they could be content like this. The fog around him tightened a little and he knew that _they_ could not. It was then that he saw her. A woman, all skin and sunshine walking through the fields toward the tree. Her hair ran down to her waist in deep brown cascades. She was lithe and fluttery in her movements.

She held her hand out at her side as she flowed along her zig-zagging path through the tall grasses. She would see the tree. She would come to it. How could she not? He felt a tightening in his chest. His claws clenched down into the branch, and his yellowed eyes gazed at her with malice.

She looked up at the tree and smiled a wild, wide smile of pure delight. She skipped up to the side of it and ran her hands up along the low lying branches. She breathed in the aroma of the overripe fruit and signed, deeply and contentedly.

The tree responded to her presence. Wisps of fog danced in the high branches. She squinted up at the effect, seeming to wonder at the effects of light and shadow there. A breeze kicked up a bit more, carrying warm air around her skin, billowing her hair away from her face. It was a pleasant face. Lucifer slowly slipped down to a lower branch, careful to avoid detection. He could smell her earthiness mixing with the fermented odors of the fruits that were all around him. Her scent, though, and not the scent of the fruit, was threatening to overwhelm him.

He wondered if he should try to take her form. If she would be an acceptable vessel. He found the thought distasteful in nearly the instant that it occurred to him, but...He eased closer still. He watched her draw nearer to the tree's trunk, the shade of the branches shielding her from the sun that now was at midday. The sunlight had made her glow in vibrant bronze tones. The shadows of the tree muted the glow, but only a little.

She began to hum a tune as she breathed in long, slow breaths. She leaned toward a low hanging piece of fruit and smelled it. The fog slowly ran down the branches toward this place. She saw it and tilted her head to the side to get a closer look. She did not seem to have any fear or worry as she reached out to it. It slipped, all thin and wispy around the fruit and onto her fingers. It wound around them and became entwined in her hand. Lucifer watched, frozen in his place.

Eventually, she left. Lucifer watched her go. He felt the reluctant retreat of the fog around him. It did not come to him though. It did not fall on his back to blanket him from the cool night. It just retreated back into itself, into the tree. He felt alone and shivered in on himself.

The next day, and every day for a week, she came to them. She seemed to sit for hours at the base of the tree, just humming a tune while staring out into the distance. The tree sent out longer tendrils of fog around her. They wrapped around her arms and brushed up along her hair. She smiled with absolute contentment. Lucifer decided to make himself known to her.

He eased his way down the branches and toward the earth. He gracefully made his way into her field of vision. Her eyes seemed to pop open wider when she saw him. "Ooo." She reached out a long fingered hand to him, and he skittered toward it.

He had to focus a great deal of energy and grace into the task of human speech. His reptilian tongue did not work like the human's tongue. It wanted to whip about and did not naturally curl into the shapes needed for his words. So when he spoke, it came out in a sizzle of lisping "s" sounds. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

She seemed to be startled by the speech, at first. Lucifer assumed that most of the creatures that she had encountered were dumb. He moved about her sitting form in waves that looked like a dance. She was mesmerized by his fluid motion.

When she finally spoke, it was not to answer his question, but to pose one of her own. "What are you?"

He had to consider his answer. He did not have any intention of telling her the full answer, Angel of the Lord, Fallen Angel… Instead he simply said, "I am a serpent." His body was warming up now that he had moved out into the light that shone down on the woman's feet and him. He could feel his scaly form sucking in the delicious energy of the sky. He closed his eyes just briefly, then looked back at the woman.

"You really are beautiful." She said this leaning forward from the tree. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them while looking down at him. The sunlight gave him an iridescence that he could see more of when he curled up in the field, but he did not do that often as it meant leaving the tree. He assumed that she was referring to the colors of his scales in the light when she spoke of beauty.

"You are beautiful as well." He paused in thought and then moved closer to her. "You sit here often. Why do you keep coming back?"

"He calls me here. Don't you hear him?" She reached back a hand to the tree and touched the rough trunk.

"No, I only hear you now." Lucifer looked at her knowing that sorrow must be plain in his serpent's voice, because she moved toward him and placed her hands around his body. She pulled him into an awkward hold that was what would pass for a hug between a human and a reptile. She hummed a little as she held him. And, although he wanted to be away from her, he felt the fog upon her and chose instead to burrow his head closer to her.

He felt her ease him down to the earth again. "It must be very lonely." She said as she ran her hand down his spine. "To have no one to talk to…"

"This is all that I know now." He arched up his back into her hand as she touched him. He felt the fog of his tree on her hand and he looked up at her then. "I sometimes wish that I could know more, but my form does not allow for such knowledge."

"What do you mean?"

"A serpent, for instance, cannot hear the tree. It cannot see the world in all of the ways that you see it. When I look, I see everything muted. I am sure that there's more color than this."

"I could tell you what I see." She offered.

"You could, or…"

"Or what?"

"You could let me see through you. Allow me into your body. Let me see what you see." He worried for a moment that he was too quick, but he had watched her. She was trusting.

"What will you look at when you are in here?" She asked as she continued to smooth her hands over his form.

"Everything."

She smiled at him and gave him a little nod. It felt like an invitation. He expanded his form and began to enter her body. He could feel her soul shudder at his touch. It was not like the serpent. He could also feel the foggy presence of the tree whirling about inside her and around her. But mostly he felt her. Her bright soul so full of tranquility and life. He felt it around him and he wanted to hold it closer. His grace smoothed out around it feeling loved. She seemed like home. They opened their eyes together and looked out onto the world.

The little serpent, that once was his vessel, curled up in the grass and seemed to be asleep. Lucifer and the woman stood up together. The tree sent out fog around them. _You never stop amazing me, angel. Why did you take her?_

_I wanted to speak with you again. You did not seem to care anymore._

_I cared. I am changed now, and as long as there are humans this is how it will be. When it was just the earth, I could be more than this. There is too much in them. They are so bright now. You can see that in there, can't you?_

_I was like this once, wasn't I?_

_You were. You aren't anymore._

Lucifer could feel everything within the woman. The light was appealing. He sucked in his breath with something close to joy. He had not felt this way in a long time. It was pure. It was love. It was peace.

He looked upon the tree and saw the darkness whirl about the branches. _I should release her._

_Why?_

_I believe that if I stay here, I will forget you. She is so much._ He did not know how to explain it, but he knew that she was what God meant when he commanded them to love humanity. Her brightness, was their brightness. He felt the slight caress of fog on his form, her form. He remembered the first moments in the presence of his tree. He remembered too the moments with God.

_Before you go back to the serpent, let me give you my wisdom. If you eat of my fruit, I will be with you forever. I will never leave you. It won't be like it was before, but you will have something at least. _The fog wrapped around a large orange colored fruit. It swirled around the skin of it, muting the color to a dull peachy hue.

Lucifer rose up in the woman's body, plucked the fruit, and took a bite, before falling from her form in a flow of light. His light slipped back to the serpent on the ground. He felt better, more himself, now that he was free of her. The fog was around him again, but not just that, it was also in him. Eve was left standing with the juice of the fruit still wet on her lips. She shook then as if she felt the nakedness of her body in a new way. She curled in on herself and cried.

Lucifer felt the archangel's presence in the garden before he arrived. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before Michael would press upon him more of his father's restrictions. His actions with the human could not go unnoticed. But for now though, he was content to wait and watch as this human came undone.

* * *

_Gunnison Island_

The chaos that entered the world poured out of the water around them and spread in dark tentacles across the earth. It flowed out in rivers of death through valleys and into all of the places that mankind dwelt. It engulfed them in night and they suffocated in its all encompassing embrace. The island was a gateway and it was left untouched. The high forested peaks had not yet succumbed to the death that had passed everywhere else. The fog that filled the skies seemed to be coming down from the heavens. Within its darkness the falling angels burned bright toward the earth. The angels on the island became overwhelmed with the sound of their fall. Hell and Purgatory, too unleashed their masses on the earth in dark demon fog that flowed into the greater mass that was Alastair.

There was shock on the island that froze them in place. They could not seem to figure out what action was required. The angels were too consumed by the sounds of their fallen brethren to act. The noise of them took over their consciousness until they could only stare and shake with fear at the sky.

Then Crowley spoke to Mary, "You know what to do." She looked at him, first with doubt, then with dawning recognition.

She concentrated all of her energy on the roiling mass of fog that still clung to her. She felt him inside her, wrapped around her soul. He was everywhere and nowhere tangible. She stirred her soul. She felt Crowley at her back. She tuned out the voices of the others. There was a violent scuffle then. It did not matter. She folded in on herself. She could feel Dean beneath her. Her demon, human, righteous son. She could feel Sam beside her. Her hero, vessel, martyr son. She could hear the angels, but they did not sing anymore. Through all of it she heard Crowley, they heard Crowley, like they always had beneath it all. And she and Eve were one conscious creature now working together to pull at the fog. They felt the swirl of it loop in and out of the darkness. Their light gathering the darkness into a form. They held it, they stretched out to keep it.

They heard Castiel now as he called out her son's name. She felt him trying so desperately to push her off of Dean. The fall of his brethren had weakened him. She kept her hands in place. Heaven, Hell, Earth, and Purgatory were all united now. The gateways were opened, they were the keys. Time and destiny dictated that this moment would come to pass. They were the beginning; they were the end. But perhaps it did not all have to end. She still had hope as she felt her body losing the battle. She looked up at her surroundings once more. With the strength of Crowley's souls at her back, she reached out to Castiel and snatched Dean's soul vial from him. She saw the murderous look leap into his eyes. Balthazar and Israfel were holding him back with what little strength they had.

"He needs it." She crushed the vial open and pressed the soul into Dean's chest. She pressed some of her own in too. Dean's eyes opened. She bent down to him, still reaching into his soul. "Help me with the light."

Dean nodded. He reached out a hand toward her chest and pressed to her soul. They pressed onto the light through the dark fog that still poured into the world. The angels, Sam, and Crowley saw something in the action. They each reached out to them as they became brighter. They each placed their hands on the two beings before them.

Crowley spoke through the light, "You see Balthazar, I was right. These ones are bright." Crowley glowed bright too, as the souls inside him burst forth into the sky, his vessel slumping back to the earth empty, depleted, and dead. The brightness from Mary, Dean, and even Sam glowed brighter then until it too burned out into the dark, leaving their bodies empty. Mary fell across Dean who had slumped back still against the ground. All three of them emptied now that their task was complete.

The fog did not stop, but the light was gone from them. Castiel, Balthazar and Israfel regained their mobility. Balthazar grabbed the bodies of Crowley and Mary. Israfel scooped up Sam, and Castiel scooped up Dean. _We need to get to higher ground._ Balthazar's words came to them as thought. The world was filled with the hum of the waters around them that were taking on more menace now that the gateway was closed.

_Where should we take them?_ Israfel asked desperate to take flight.

_Redwood National Park._ Castiel showed them a spot high in the mountains, then they snapped up into the sky moments before the land beneath them was covered in black.


	15. Chapter 7 (Part Seven)

And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever: Therefore the LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken. So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life. Genesis 3:22-24

* * *

He had visited the lake once more before the final dreamwalk. Crowley was speaking with Balthazar; Sam and Israfel were together, and Mary was off under her tree alone. He felt as though this would be the final opportunity for them. If they failed, he would never speak with him again. A small wisp of Crowley's words flitted through the distance to him, _They fought, and they died, but they did not lose._ He liked the hope that was buried in the words.

He carried that hope into Dean as he pressed his hands to his chest and slipped into his dreams. The land glowed out around him, the lake pristine and still. He slowly made his way along the dock toward the man seated serenely at the edge.

"Hello, Dean." He reached out his hand and placed it on Dean's shoulder. He was wrong, a little when he thought that the peaceful dreams could not save Dean. Dean continued to stare off at the line that ran from his fishing pole. He reached down though and lifted a beer from his side to his lips. He took a long pull from the bottle and then set it back on the dock beside him.

"Hello, Cas." He did not break his stare. The words though were certainly a surprise to Castiel. The tone was real and everything that he remembered from before. Then Dean added, "You need to go."

"I won't go. You know that I can't." Castiel said as he slumped down next to Dean's chair.

"You have to stop trying to save me. I will destroy everything if you do." Dean finally looked at him, with abject despair. He seemed to want to say more, but he was struggling to focus on anything but the fishing.

Castiel wanted to explain things to him that seemed important before, but now all that he could do was linger. His hand was still on Dean, but now he moved it down to his wrist, then his hand.

Dean grew still, rigid. "I can't stop saving you, Dean. You, of all people, should understand." He felt Dean relax a little.

"We'll all die." Dean's tone was resigned, monotone.

"Then we will die fighting." Castiel turned a bit so that he fully faced Dean. "I have learned a lot from your dreams, from you. I have learned what it means to fight, to die, to live. I have learned what you mean when you call me family. I have learned what strength there is in your words that mean one thing and also so much more. I learned what matters, and what really doesn't. I have found my faith today Dean." He paused then and looked long into Dean's face before he continued. Dean did not look away. "I prayed that God would help us. I prayed that he would let you live. I prayed with all of the faith that I could scrape together. I have faith today Dean."

"A fat lot of good faith has done us, Cas." Dean broke the gaze and turned back to his fishing.

Castiel grabbed Dean's face and roughly turned it back to him. "I have faith today. I have faith in us. I have faith in your brother and in mine. I even have a little faith in a former crossroad's demon. I have faith, Dean. I have faith in you too."

Dean shifted and stopped Castiel's speech with his lips. It was quick and solid against Castiel. "You have to stop saving me." Dean tried again.

Castiel stopped him this time with a more forceful kiss. His lips forcing Dean back farther into the chair. Dean's hand came up to Castiel's head and held it there. Their mouths parted and Castiel said, "I will never stop."

Dean's mouth came close to his, but he dipped his head to rest his forehead against his angel instead. The moment lingered on. "You were always here." Deans breath of words fluttered out like a kiss.

"And I always will be."

"Every good dream, every good memory, all of it came back to you. It was like you were telling me my story. Reminding me of something that was out there that mattered." Dean continued to hold him, and Castiel smoothed his hands out over his back in long circles of comfort and protection.

"Your dreams were not all from me," Castiel said sadly.

Dean moved a little in Castiel's hands, "The ones that matter were. The words that you said mattered too." This part came out differently, with more urgency. Dean seemed to be saying more, but could not explain it better.

"Goodbye, Cas." With those words Castiel could feel the dream slip away.

"Goodbye, Dean." It ended too soon. _Life is never long enough_, thought the angel that had lived so much longer than most of them.

* * *

_Eden_

The world was a sea of black. Mankind's last moments were snuffed out in rolling masses of fog. No one fought it, no one could. It was just around them, and on them, and then it was done. When the borders fell, all of the realms became one. They collided together, losing form and shape. All of the realms, that is, except for earth.

The cage had held Lucifer before. It had held him for many years. Its walls surrounded him in the purest light, light that streamed down from above. The light of the walls flowed down the roots of the tree of life. It was guarded above by the Cherubim, their blades of fire provided a swift death to anyone that approached them. No one approached them though.

When he had been pulled from this place before, by Sam, the portal to earth did not require passage through the garden or near the tree of life. The Cherubim were not concerned with his presence in the cage anyway. They were concerned with the tree. For neither man nor angels should hold so much power. The tree was balance and infinite possibilities. Lucifer moved upward toward it when the cage walls fell.

Michael was not with him. He did not know where the archangel went. He just soared upward toward the light, toward freedom. He felt the change in the universe, the presence of the fog. He knew that Alastair had succeeded. He smiled and moved faster. It was all for this moment, all of it, always. He burst through the earth into the garden. The Cherubim were still at their posts. Their bodies identical. Their overly long arms hung down past their knees, their eyes were fire, their faces alabaster stone. There was no hair on their heads, only light that streamed out from them. The angel blades in their hands raised with golden flames against him.

"Do not approach the tree of life!" The nearest Cherubim spoke in a low guttural voice as he advanced toward Lucifer.

"There is no life here anymore, Cherubim." He braced for the fight that he knew would come. "There is nothing to defend."

"There is still life left, and we will defend it." The Cherubim moved with speeds so great that they would have looked like a blur of light and fog to a mortal's eyes. Their wings spread out behind them flamed but did not burn. Lucifer felt their forms collide with his, throwing him back onto the grass behind him. He felt his form stretch out in their hands as they pulled at each part of him. The fiery blades raised high in unison angled down at his chest. Then the light around them grew bright, too bright. The Cherubim hesitated. And from the sky and on all sides streams of light shot through the dark. The air was charged and smelled of electricity after a storm.

Perceiving a greater threat, they turned toward the tree of life. The light poured into the tree with force. Lancing into it from all sides only to spread from it again shooting out of all of the branches and glowing under ground as it spread forth from the roots. It shot through them and around them and back to the tree. Lucifer could feel the essence of souls. He stumbled back and watched as the light tore through the Cherubim, but they did not perish. They too were merely buffeted by the blasts as if they were in a fierce storm.

"What have you done, Lucifer?" The Cherubim asked in unison.

"Not this. I have preferred the dark." He smirked.

The Cherubim turned on Lucifer again, seeming to feel as though he was the threat that could be countered. They fell on him again. He fell back, their hands tearing at him. He could feel the light seeping into his wounds with each new gash that the Cherubim ripped into him. The light healed him just as quickly as the Cherubim injured him.

The Cherubim stopped again. The sound of wings on the other side of the tree drew their attention. The angel that stood their slumped to the ground with his burden, two creatures in his arms. The angel did not stay down long. He stood with purpose and decisively stepped to the tree of life. The Cherubim made no move to stop him as he and his creatures walked into the light of the tree. Lucifer reached toward the tree, feeling the light call to him.

The rumble of the Cherubim' voices shook the ground, "It had been foretold. The tree of life would hold Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory when these powers bring to it the souls of mankind to be remade in his image." The Cherubim held up their hands toward what was once the Heavens and spoke in one voice again, "The prophecy is come to pass, and so it begins." Looking down at Lucifer in one swift turn of their heads, they directed the light of the tree toward him in a concentrated stream of unending brightness.

And to the Angel of Light, it was so familiar. It became brilliant and it seemed to flow into him with warmth and memories that had long since been buried. It did not bring the type of pain that he had expected the instant before it shot through him. Instead, he felt it slip into his form and it filled the emptiness. It rolled through his memories and pain. It coated his anger and rage. It showed him what once was and what could be. It showed him love, the love that God demanded of him, but that he had forgotten to feel. It showed him humanity and grace uncorrupted. It showed him family and faith. He felt it, all of it, in an instant.

He felt it all collapsing inside of him to a small pinprick of a moment held tight from so long ago. A tree swaying in the breeze and the tenderness and love that he felt in that moment. The memory swirled up and back, then there was a girl, her hair blown back by the wind, eyes glowing with pure white light. She reached for him, and he felt love course through him, love for a being that held him close in darkness, love for a being that had held him close in light. Now, for the the first time in a long time, he wanted to feel the light more than the darkness.

He had forgotten the joy of it. He moved forward and let it overtake him. His form becoming light, spreading out through the roots, out through the branches and back again. He felt his being join the others their purpose clear in their collective consciousness. The Angel of Profound Bonds was holding them together. The graces of a whole host of angels that had fallen, the splintered, torn souls from Alastair's rack, and Eve-the mother of all.

_Let there be light, _and there was light. The voice pressed them from the tree. The words sent them out over the face of the planet pressing back the fog. The darkness fell back from the light, and they did not stop. They blanketed the earth in their warmth, and the darkness could not overcome them. It curled and roiled back, confined like a dark sea. It did not consume anymore. It merely stirred in fearsome stormy waves. The light rolled and swirled around its edges, a type of caress. And that is where they finally slowed and eventually stilled.

The angels sang within the light then, for they could feel the presence of God. For although, mankind was lost, nothing really ends. And the light was bright upon the face of the earth, and God saw it and said that, _It is good; it is very good._

* * *

_Redwood National Park_

Castiel heard the voice of Balthazar across the the vast distance that separated him from Eden. He had not known of Balthazar's plan. He had felt the emptiness at his side when Balthazar strayed from their path. Castiel kept going, not sure what he could do, but he had to buy time. He flew past the lake that once glowed golden in the daylight. Now it was a shivering mass of tiny waves under an infinite night. The fog would reach it soon. Castiel flew on, Dean's body in his arms. He looked to Israfel, and saw her face tense as she looked back at the swiftly approaching mass of darkness just in their wake.

It was then that they heard Balthazar. _The fog will destroy mankind, but you can save them. Give them a new form-in trees. Alastair is not killing the trees._ With that Castiel and Israfel dropped through the sky to the top of the highest peak in Redwood National Park. They could feel the fog drawing closer.

_There is something here. I feel it pulling at Sam._ Israfel allowed herself to be drawn to a small rise in the moist earth. She laid Sam down on it.

_It is doing the same to Dean._ Castiel moved away from where he had landed and found another small mound in the earth. The spot hummed out to him with warmth and he laid Dean on it.

There was so much to see in these last moments, the face that he thought of more often than anything, the angel that was his dearest friend, the very human brother that he never knew he needed. It was too much. He felt the one tear escape before he could force his mind into focus. He pressed his forehead down to Dean's wanting just a little more time. There was so much that they still needed to say, a world of words unspoken, and all he had were a handful of dreams.

He could not stop the shaking that was threatening to overtake him. He held Dean's face to his and thought, _Israfel, it is time._ They each left their vessels then and fell upon the men in their arms. The bodies beneath them sunk into the earth and souls, grace and earth swirled about in blue white light. They lost form and structure, becoming together one light.

Then they felt the change in the world, for Balthazar had entered the tree of life. They felt the light course through the earth. They felt the fog pass over them, but mostly they felt the bond. Balthazar had sent a bond out along with the light. It fused in them with strength and love. They felt the wood pieces beneath Sam and also Dean. They felt the souls grip slip into the new form and take root. The angels covered them in their light, their grace.

They were not alone in this endeavor. They could hear the voices of the angels. They sang of their bonds and of the light. Balthazar was calling to them, sending them out to the varied pockets of the earth that also contained what they would need to survive. He led them with human souls to places that God had chosen, and they joyously followed him. And thus, the angels would be saved by the souls of these humans and an angel that would bond them all together.

Then, just like that, the world was still, and time stretched out in a type of peace. It was necessary. Castiel knew that it would be many years before they could be reformed into something else. They would need at least a thousand years, but he had spent time on this sort of task before. He remade Dean from less. In a thousand years it would be easy. For now, at least, they would all rest, and Castiel and Israfel would wrap them in grace, and watch over their dreams.

* * *

**Author's Note: This is the last chapter of the story. I have two additional posts that I plan to make. Each one is an epilogue. One epilogue is titled "Light" and the other is titled "Darkness." You may choose to read both, neither, or either. They each offer up a different path for the end. Lastly, thanks for reading. I would love to hear what you thought of it. As a first time fic. writer, I really don't know if I got any of it right. Thanks again.**


	16. Epilogue (Light)

Epilogue-Light

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. John 1:1-5

* * *

God looked down upon the earth and bore witness to its light and its darkness. He took in the paths of existence that spiraled out beyond time and mortal imaginations and felt it all with some satisfaction. The blue-green orb of existence became the place of focus for him, and he loved its potential, its glorious possibilities. There were so many stories wrapped in its existence. So many that one could only view them with awe. That so many creatures could do so much with so little was a glorious thing.

He focused on one path more than the others. One story that felt particularly right and good. It was a story of redemption and beginnings. It was a millennium in the making. He looked to the movement in the forest and contemplated their path.

The small ones scurried about in their rough brown bodies. The Greeks of old would have called them dryads for all that they appeared to be. They were of the trees, and they kept the features of their old forms in their new bodies. The hair on their bodies was coarse. Their existence spoke of promise and hope and love.

He had watched them for a thousand years, a moment for him. The trees grew in that time, shrouded in light and grace. They clawed their ways up to the sky, stretching out with new life. The angels surrounded their souls in swirling light that moved about and caressed the trunks and branches of the trees.

In time the trees and the grace had formed new lives. They produced small lumps of burl that grew out at their sides. The grace nestled in around these new lives and cradled them down to the earth. They poured love and light into them and they too began to stretch out like the trees had. Only these new lives were not to be trees. These were the dryads and this was their beginning.

* * *

Dean was comfortable in his new form now. It had taken some time to adjust, but a thousand years of stillness changes you. He ran a hand down his rough skin and felt the crags and valleys that were his new complexion. He walked to the edge of the clearing and leaned against the large, grey boulder. Sam was there too, leaning against the other side, looking out at the piles of little creatures shimmying about.

Castiel had gathered the small ones to him. He would tell them stories. He did this often, and Dean could not help but smile at the small mass of creatures that tumbled and swarmed over to him. They clamored to get near him as he settled into a seated position. Their eyes looked on him with such fondness. The ones that were theirs had green eyes, green like the tree that bore them. The ones that were Sam's and Israfel's had golden brown eyes.

Castiel quieted the children then and began his story, "This story has many beginnings, but it does not begin at your beginning. It begins in a forest, high on top of a mountain that is lush and moist and earthy. Even this is not the beginning, but it is a fine enough place to start."

Dean looked at Castiel with affection that had grown stronger over their years of stillness. Castiel had said that they had to share the story with the small ones. That they would carry the story and learn from it the need for love and light in the dark world. The words would matter and the story would unite them. And in hearing this story, they would know that they were loved even before they existed.

"Israfel told me that it won't be long now before the others arrive. The angels are leading them through the valley below." Sam smiled over at Dean then added, "I guess that it won't be so quiet around here anymore."

"I guess not." Dean threw a smile at Sam then. "Do you remember when we thought that we would die young?"

"Well, technically we did." Sam chuckled. "But yeah, I remember."

"I can't believe that I am so old." Dean stretched back as he spoke.

"Ha, are you going start telling the kids to get off your lawn?"

He laughed then, "The kids are the lawn, or the trees anyway."

They both laughed then and noticed that Castiel had paused in his storytelling to glare at them. It was an affectionate glare. "I suppose that we should keep it down." Sam's laughter was quieter now.

The small ones laughed now at the way that the old ones were behaving. Castiel threw up his hands in mock resignation, "I suppose the story will have to wait." He rose from his seat and made his way to Dean. The children laughed again and complained until he came back to his former place. "Fine, but only if your fathers can keep their voices low." He sent another pointed look at Dean and then at Sam. Dean winked back and smiled over at Sam.

The story continued and Dean listened to Castiel's voice rise and fall in musical cadences. The small ones were captivated and so was he. He knew the story well, but it was always warming to hear it told from Castiel's perspective. He could hear, in each description, devotion that had spanned generations of time.

As the day's story drew to an end, Dean made his way to Castiel's side. "Okay, children, story time is done for today. Go make your own stories to share tonight at dark." Another tradition...For in addition to Castiel's stories, they had decided that the children needed to have stories to tell too. So each night they would gather, and the children would take turns sharing words of adventure and life. They were simple stories, but beauty can be simple sometimes too.

Dean entwined his fingers in Castiel's and together they walked out into the forest. They often took the same path winding along the stream toward a not too distant lake. They sat together on a fallen log that leaned out over the water. Sometimes they did not speak. Sometimes they did. Dean had always been a man of few words and a millennium as a tree did nothing to change that. It did change other things though. The comfort and affection that he sought from Castiel was easy now, naturally given and received.

The light on the lake was golden and not unlike the lake of his old dreams. He turned to Castiel and pressed a quiet kiss to his brow.

"What are you thinking about?" Castiel asked him as he smoothed back Dean's hair from his rough face.

"Don't you see my thoughts?" Dean smiled at him now.

"I do, but I like to hear your voice too." Castiel smiled back.

"I am happy, Cas. I never thought that I would be happy, but I am." He leaned into a kiss then and felt Castiel respond with lips parted slightly. They held each other and moved closer feeling the warmth of each other's breath straining out between them as they angled into each other. Dean slipped back from Castiel a little and asked, "Do you ever miss the old me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the Dean that was human. I was different then. Sometimes I wonder if I have changed too much." Dean licked his lips and leaned down, touching his forehead to Castiel's, waiting for a response.

"I am happy, Dean. The old you is still here." He reached up then and placed a gentle hand on Dean's chest. "Everything that I have come to love is right here, and I miss nothing from before." He pressed his hand more firmly to Dean to make his point, then added, "What about you? Do you miss our old lives? Me?" Castiel's words sounded a little hesitant.

"You can see my thoughts. You must know the answer." He saw the smile on Castiel's face slowly blossom and continued, because the words mattered too. "I loved you then, needed you even, but it took a thousand years and the body of a tree to understand what that meant. Now I love you, and I understand what that means. And I do not miss anything from before either."

Castiel folded Dean into him with his wings and held him close. They laid back on the sand together and felt the warmth of the day and each other. Their bodies entwined as the afternoon passed on into evening. It was truly simple now. They lingered in their love until the call of their children sang out through the mountains and valleys, calling them home for the night's stories. Would it always be like this? He wondered. He looked into the deep blue eyes that held him. He pulled him into a long kiss. Angling his head to feel the brush of his stubbled cheek as he did so, Dean hoped that it would always be like this and could imagine that it was finally possible. After all an angel once told him that 'sometimes, good things do happen.'

And Dean smiled to himself and to his angel and thought, not for the first time, _this is good_.

* * *

***Author Note: First, thank you all for reading. I am struggling with the other epilogue that I promised and may opt not to submit it. I suppose that I just prefer the light. Let me know if you would prefer the dark:) Please leave a review. I would love to hear your thoughts.**


	17. Epilogue (Dark)

Epilogue 2 Darkness

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. John 1:1-5

* * *

In the vast expanse of nothingness the immortals looked down upon what was once creation. It was still rolling and moving with old life and chaos, but it was formless and deep, and full of potential. Together they were drawn to the small spark of life that still glowed out from the mass of darkness. The light that sang in stories and words that should have long since ended.

Of course, nothing really ends. If one could peel back the layers of life that had existed beneath the darkness, one would find layer on layer of creations that lived and loved and were so much more. Their stories too had spiraled out in masses of light, pooling and whirling in the joy of their existence.

It was the stories that mattered. It was their essence. For without the stories, there was no creation. For it would all begin with a word or two. A choice would be made. Formlessness would be given form and there would be light. The immortals could see back through the stories, the layers. They could see the ones before mankind, the scaly ones, large and lumbering, the creatures of flame that spoke in wisps of smoke and light. Each layer of life lay out in the darkness, memories now in the minds of the immortals.

They should not have touched on each other, these separate stories, but sometimes they did. Some stories were too powerful, too full to exist in only one layer. The immortals would sometimes find it hard to cover over the past layers entirely, and thus a pathway would seep through to the surface. There had been a world of fog once, and the beings within it were a fierce and awe-inspiring breed. Their story was as varied as that of mankind's. There was in these creatures faith, hope, and love. Although, it was not always apparent.

These essentials came to them differently than they did to mankind. For the fog flowed through its creation, feeling everything at once. They were one and they were many. A collective consciousness that could split and come together over and over. Their paths and stories were not simple. They came to understand love near the end, but already the immortals had decided that it was time to pull the darkness together into forms. They made a decision, and it was good.

It would be an easier existence. There would be paths to follow in their stories, and there would be love. For devotion and love were the seeds of their existence. The stories brought that to the immortals beyond all of the vast expanse of nothingness that seemed to separate them, but did not separate them at all.

Perhaps it was time to lay down a new layer of life. Perhaps it was time to let the old ones rest. A thousand years is nothing to an immortal. A thousand years is nothing now, to anyone or anything. It was now, only a concept that lingered in the consciousness of an angel and a soul.

They looked down on the last spark of life and listened to the stories that he told. They were mesmerized by the words, the faith, the hope, and the love. As it always did, it kept them from action. It seemed to create more paths and the potential for more stories. So they each harkened to the words, when they should have pressed it all into something new.

They looked down at the angel and felt a sense of awe as he created. For he had managed to do what nothing in creation had managed to do before. They watched him creating story path after story path. He took the memories of life that existed in the consciousness of the soul that he carried, and he re-lived them. He carried the soul through those memories and made it live them again too. He altered paths that the memories took and made them intriguing to the immortals that watched it all.

True, sometimes he was sloppy. It was forgivable; he was not a god. There were times when he had struggled with the situation that he was too conscious of. Occasionally, he would step out of the memories and stare out into the rolling dark. When he would return to the memories, the stories would falter. He gave Sam a girlfriend in one memory. She shared the name of his vessel's wife. He did that from time to time. It was easier not to focus on the little things. Sometimes he created characters that existed in Dean's memories of movies, and because he did not fully understand them, he sometimes mashed them up and made them into strange hybrids of their original forms. Sometimes it was amusing, but sometimes it caused the immortals to wonder if it was time to intervene, to let him finally rest.

And, as if he knew that their existence were being questioned Castiel renewed his efforts. When he first imagined the final battle for existence against Alastair, he imagined waiting for Dean for a thousand years. The second time it was two thousand. Later it was ten thousand. Now, he chose numbers at random. He never thought about how it all actually played out. He never actually focused on the way that Dean had collapsed when Sam had fallen into Hell. He never actually focused on the way that the fog had exploded up from the earth moments later. He sometimes let himself wonder why his Father would renew his life only to let him watch the world disappear.

When the world was more than his memories, it had fallen differently than he cared to think about. When the fog erupted from the earth, Castiel still had some fight left in him, and Dean was not dead. So he pulled him into his arms and flew far and fast away from the turmoil. It spread quickly, devouring everything in its wake. Mankind fell and the earth was consumed. He flew though, and looked for some sign of salvation. He saw the light in the darkness. It was one of the few things that he kept somewhat in tact in his varied memories. It was the tree of life. It was not aptly named, for it was not truly a tree. It looked like a blue-white atom with spiraling electrons of light. It is likely that the early mortals that were tasked with its description did not understand such concepts though and so they had called it a tree. The light did make trails like branches, so it made some sense.

Castiel had pressed Dean back into the light and prayed to his Father for help. The only help that he had received was that the light from the tree had held back the dark. The two of them sat in a still small place just big enough for the two of them with a few feet to spare all around. As dawning realization rained down on him, Castiel became despondent and lonely. The immortals watched him take the first tentative steps into Dean's mind. They watched his skills increase. They were impressed.

At first he could only take small steps into the memories before he found himself thrust back into the small, dark world. The immortals watched the first steps that the angel took into the consciousness of the soul with fascination.

The first memory that Castiel slipped into was dark, but not troubled. Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala in the middle of nowhere. Night had long since fallen. The stars were high overhead. He was alone. It was a memory from a time when Sam was in Stanford and John was off on a separate hunt. Dean was lonely, but not so lonely as he would feel later in his life. Castiel was comfortable in this memory. He felt like Dean still had hope. The darkness was just night punctuated with the light of stars. It was not menacing; it was peaceful.

Dean rose from the hood of the car and climbed into the back seat. He pulled a threadbare blanket up around his body and curled up to sleep. Castiel pressed himself into the floor space near Dean's side. He watched as his breathing grew shallower with the sleep that was taking over. Castiel leaned his head close to Dean's then and pulled in breath after breath, trying to match his. He whispered then, "I still have you." He knew that Dean could not hear him. He could not even force himself into the moments by taking on one of the dream forms. His abilities in these early days were limited. For now, though, he could be content to just see him.

He would walk at his side in Sioux Falls as he looked for parts for the Impala. He would sit by his side in some flea-bitten hotel looking at the window that flashed the colors of whatever neon sign was on the other side. He would stare at Dean's face while he ate a greasy cheeseburger, extra bacon in three different memories from three different diners. He would try to hold him when he cried for Sam. He would try to hold him when he cried for his mom. He memorized his smiles, his laugh, his shockingly high-pitched squack of horror at Sam's claim that he had in fact eaten the last piece of pie.

The immortals watched too. The journeys became longer, and the memories more complex over time. They also felt the despondency. It took some time before the angel could control enough for there to be happiness where there had, before, been only darkness.

Sometimes Castiel would sing. It was the beginning of change. They rode in the car together, songs pouring out of the speakers so loud that you almost couldn't hear just how bad Dean's voice really was. Castiel didn't care though. He loved the voice that could not hold a note to save its life, and he joined it with his own melody, learning the words to every song that played. At first he was troubled by the lyrics, songs of hell fire and damnation. Later though, he came to enjoy them. He sang them sometimes even when he was outside. He screamed them out at the fog and felt satisfied.

There were quiet songs too-power ballads and some "big-hair band love songs" as Dean called them during a memory with Sam. They sang those songs together too.

Sometimes, in those moments, Castiel thought that Dean could see him. He wanted so much to believe that deep down, Dean knew that he was there. Then maybe, just maybe, neither one of them would have to be alone. Sometimes the immortals wanted that too.

Sometimes he told Dean stories of heaven. Sometimes he told him that he loved him. Sometimes he just listened to the silence. When he was outside he could feel the pulse of Dean's soul. Sometimes he would tell himself that Dean was speaking to him with it. Mostly, though, he knew that it was a pattern, a rhythm like a heartbeat in a comatose man. Dean's soul pulsed a pattern, but it did not tell him a thing.

Later, there was a story of loneliness. It was pulling their attention until none of them could turn away. The angel was slipping into the dreams of his friend. The soul at his back held tight in the tree of life. The tree had been nurtured by the ever swirling grace that spread from the angel. And, for the story, the immortals would continue to keep the darkness at bay.

The angel's story began at what should have been his end. At this point, he had figured out how to create new memories. It was the first change, the next would be creating something so believable that he would not slip away from it.

In the memory, he spoke of beginnings. He spoke of life and love. And the imagined creatures that he spoke to loved him in return. As they gazed upon him with devotion, it was clear to the immortals what longings the angel had. It was an old story that could be found in every layer of creation. It was a story of loneliness, but also of love. It was of love that never required anything but hoped for it just the same. It was a story of love that fought and died but did not lose. It was a story that appealed to them. It was a story that swiftly spiraled out to other times and other scenes. Moments in dreams and moments in the darkness. They could not turn away though. So they watched the familiar tale play out again, as well as, the thoughts from the mind of the angel in the darkness.

* * *

In Castiel's memory, the world was darkness around him. It would always be darkness. Castiel had felt the world slip away with the fog. It rushed through the trees and over the mountains engulfing everything in its path. He had hope that they could save something of this world. He poured faith into prayers and love into each and every word. It was to no avail. The earth beneath him trembled as he felt the presence surrounding him.

In his memory, Balthazar's words came to him at the end. It was a thought delivered with fervent hope. He pressed his bond out to them and called on them to use the trees. It had given hope new life in his chest. He and the other angels had thrown themselves into the task. He and Israfel believed that they had won. They dreamed in an instant of a future with light, love, and so much that had only been words of hope before. It was becoming real for them in that instant. They clung to it and spread out in love over the earth. The humans in their charge pressed firmly into the earth carried their hopes. They would watch their dreams, they thought.

Perhaps, it could have ended that way, but it did not. Castiel reimagined the moment in a myriad of ways. He created moments and stories that included this single moment and tried with all of his being to believe that it was real.

The darkness had surrounded them and had taken over everything except for Castiel and the tree at his back, Dean. He could not comprehend why this spot was spared. Why not Israfel, or Balthazar? He closed his eyes and slipped into Dean's memories. He was having trouble separating reality from memories. He could not remember who was real and who he had conjured up to fill some of the void. Was Israfel real? Balthazar? Dean? There was another pulse and he closed his eyes choosing for a moment to believe in Dean.

Sometimes he felt something more in the dreams, and in the dark. He felt the presence of something greater watching him. And because he was lonely he created imaginary forms for them and told them stories. They were children, sort of. His children. Dean's children. Sam's children. Israfel's children. They listened to the tales, and somehow he knew that they were why he existed, why Dean existed. He focused again and again on the dream in the forest, the children, and the hope that it offered. He could stay there forever. It would be enough.

Sometimes when it was all too much he looked out at the world, the rolling darkness, the endless sky, the light at his back, and he wondered, if it would always be enough.

He slipped into a quiet dream and walked with Dean along a path toward a golden lake. They did not speak, but he could imagine Dean's thoughts. He spread his wings out behind them and imagined them grazing Dean's back, providing comfort and love. He smiled then and imagined how things might have been if there had just been a little more time. He imagined what they might have said. He imagined what they might have done, for Dean was not a man of words. Neither was he when it really came down to labels.

He moved his wings more protectively around Dean as they came to a stop at the lake's edge. They stared out at the light, and Castiel felt its imagined warmth on his face. He looked at Dean, whose eyes were closed. His face taking on the golden glow of the day, and Castiel knew that if this was all that there was in the darkness, that it would always be enough.

* * *

The immortals slipped back from the stories and considered. They looked down the paths of existence that spiraled out beyond time and mortal imaginations and felt it all with some sadness. They came to love the angel in a way that they had not loved the other creations. They loved his potential, his glorious possibilities. There were so many stories wrapped in his existence. So many that one could only view them with awe. That one creature could do so much with so little was a glorious thing.

And as they gazed down on the little speck of life that was shining out from the darkness, they felt their love grow. The waves of love that surrounded them on the one small island separated the two creatures from the dark. They felt the love that had poured out on that spot before the fog took over. They felt the love that was in their stories and poured out in words-words that the angel spoke into the darkness, words that were spoken into the light of dreams.

The light carried their words to them. They saw so much in their dreams too. Dreams created in Dean, but cherished by Castiel. The stories that flowed in him and around him, and through him, were a whole world of possibility. These dreams were, for now, contained in this still small place. Someday, maybe, it could all begin again. For here were all of the ingredients that one would need for life.

They looked to each other then and smiled down on the lonely creature. They saw a path that would be long. They could wait. They were patient, and maybe, in the end the angel and his human would know that they were loved and not alone. And although it would be long, they hoped that in the end that they would see it all and would believe that it was good. Some paths wound out that way-some stories had a happy ending.

For now, the light would glow, and time would pass. A small space in the dark would hold an angel of the Lord and the dreams of mankind. Perhaps this layer could pass through to the next. Perhaps, in time it could begin again, but for now, at least, there could be dreams for them and rest.

* * *

**The end.**


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